Re: Stacks
by DesolateMoondust
Summary: Post 5x03: An unexpected loss strikes the Peck family, forcing the remaining members to band together to try to make sense of it. It will be a struggle, and there will be a lot of emotions, varying from anger, sadness and loneliness. [told mainly through Gail's POV, but may briefly take on multiple POVs throughout, focusing on family and relationships].
1. The Shower

The story takes place around 5x03, and deviates from the rest of the season for reasons that will be known by the end of this chapter.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue, this is true. I own nothingggg. But I venture to write about these characters and to tell a story that's not been told before.**

**Rating it K for now, but this may change at a later date. All feedback is welcome.  
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Chapter 1

The Shower

There have been times when Gail would shower, and she would turn it to the hottest setting available – the most blinding, harsh temperatures imaginable – and in those instances she would take what little solace she could find.

Those showers were seldom, momentous, and always called for. And she could literally count the number of times on one hand alone:

The night Nick left

The night of her kidnapping

And now, the afternoon following last night's Fite Night.

Gail is not one for hot showers, or at least not particularly hot enough to torch the skin, always favoring to meddle with the cold knob until there was a certain balance. She would even opt for cold showers when she was time restricted, or when Chris or Dov had used up the last droplets of warmth.

But today was a different story.

Today Gail found respite in the heat. She turned it full blast, and stood there just out of reach, waiting for the steam to start forming onto the glass panel of which was she staring idly at.

There was something about it, in how the water would cascade, and Gail would linger just out of reach as if alluding to the belief that she was in control. That if she so chose she could leave entirely and not bathe in the torrent currently making its haste downward to spray the contour of the bathtub.

She knew that the second she stepped under the water, she would lose it all. She would be forced to feel it, and let it consume her like the many stray pellets taking seize of her body. And so she hung in this elusive moment, holding off the inevitable, prolonging it at will until it gave way to succumbing.

She stepped forward and embraced the current, swept away by its demand.

And the tears started to fall. It was like they bypassed the moment of conception and just immediately began to drop right there, right then.

The sob that accompanied the fall was inaudible, the water too loud and noisy to withstand such declaration. Instead it drowned out the copious wails of grief that wrecked habitually through her frame. She found her hand clutch over her left breast as she craned her head back briefly, only to tumble forward and rest against her chest, spluttering as she tried to breathe through the fountain of water.

She's not sure how long she remains in the shower, just letting the water hit her body to burn all the areas that she could not touch, as she rocked slightly on the balls of her feet. It was a bubble she was not used to, but was privy to in the moments she would seek out the shower. In times of need, in times of crisis. It times of sorrow.

Each event warranted this.

And she could recollect with perfect clarity the previous times she sought out this particular coping mechanism.

She can remember how she shed her clothes, as if on auto-pilot as she unwound her body; piece by piece, sorting blindly through her possessions; item by item, in the suspended moment of disbelief. His stuff was already gone. There would be no wedding. And so she continued until all that remained was the t-shirt in her hand, and it was one she refused to drop.

It it was the one she had worn that day – it was one she took as her own, even though it belonged to Nick.

She looked at it, not really knowing if there was a reason for it, or if any thoughts took place – but she did. Until she dropped it and slowly sought out the bathroom.

The kidnapping was another happening entirely.

She recalls how she desperately wanted one, _needed_ it like the air that filled her lungs as she sat on the bed, having been recently examined thoroughly by the doctors and then jabbed thereafter by the nurses. She recalls how they initially didn't want her to, the evidence and statements and all of it being far from over.

But fortunately after some time, and with much persuasion on her mother's part, they relented. They allowed her to use one of the private en-suites, having declined the mildly horrifying offer of being cleansed by the on duty nurse that night.

And so she headed gingerly towards the shower room, eager to let the stream of water drown out the noise gnawing inside her head.

For she was so desperate in her need to purify; to external her internal in such a way that it would not leave a trace.

But now, today, Gail found herself much like the first time as she walked the hallways, up the stairs and the familiar passages. She walked until she found the shower room and locked it up behind her, ignoring the calls emanating from in the living room. She couldn't deal with it right now.

She took her time as she stripped from her uniform, eyes noting the vest as she placed it tentatively down onto the surface before unbuttoning her work top. It was habit. It was typical. It was calculated as she flattened every crease and matted down the material until it was pressed flat. She listened with expectant ears as she adjusted the velcro, welcoming that peculiar sound that made Gail deflate with ease. It was routine. It was normal.

But nothing about this day was normal. She was acting like it was; she was doing things that were, but not a single act felt like it fit in this reality. Or rather, this reality did not fit in her normal.

She caught sight of her reflection as she stepped toward the shower unit.

And suddenly she remembers all those times before where she saw herself mirrored, holding every feature and emotion in such a way that Gail could hardly believe this was her staring right back.

It was quite alarming to see just how stoic she looked - how regular, like Chris had just told her that all her favorite jelly filled donuts from the morning had been eaten, or that Dov had stolen her last pair of clean socks. It was like her signature glance right before she let it rip, this moment where she hinged on completely losing her shit.

Except she didn't, not right then. She breathed in. She watched. She exhaled.

And then she got into the shower.

Because there have been times when Gail would shower, and she would turn it to the hottest setting available – the most blinding, harsh temperatures imaginable – and in those instances she would take what little solace she could find.

Those showers were seldom, momentous, and always called for. And she could literally count the number of times on one hand alone:

The night Nick left

The night of her kidnapping

And now the afternoon following last night's Fite Night,

For it was the day her father passed away.


	2. The News

Many thanks to those that have read, reviewed, followed/favourited - you are all so awesome :)

Anyway, here is the second chapter. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 2

The News

Gail knows her mother is a lot of things.

She's driven, to the point where she demands attention. She's a white collar for a reason, and ahead of her peers in many respects. Her mother carries her façade like the make-up in her bag, so fine to the skin that no one can seem to tell that it's there at all. She's a responsible adult, with a home, husband and children. She's cultivated this life through years of dedication, reputation and application.

So Gail is aware that Elaine is a lot of things that she is not, and this disappoints her mother a great deal - but not Gail, not really. She's glad that she's nothing like her mother.

And yet she is - they are alike, in the ways that count. In the moments that matter.

It's surprising that she should figure this out when all is lost.

It comes in the form of Oliver radioing through to their vehicle: a personal, if not worrying message requesting Gail back to the station. Though succinct enough, the order omits the true nature of the call, forcing this ambiguity to now linger uncomfortably in the car – affecting all persons involved.

Chloe expeditiously becomes quiet during this exchange, eyes straying from the road to look at Gail as she drives. She's not quite sure what to make of the situation, and so finds herself debating over it for a second as her jaw slackens, prepared to speak at will only to end up closing her mouth a moment later. She proceeds to do this several times until she decides that silence is actually the best course of action for once, and instead concentrates on driving them back to the station.

Gail takes this time to start worrying, to contemplating possibilities of what's happened as she pulls out her mobile.

She switches it on; curious to see if anything may have corresponded there first before she was informed via radio. She knows instinctively it's not work related, as if her marrow is crying out to her – letting her know that she has to prepare herself.

She's been in this position a few times before, when harm would come to those she loved most. And all those instances were just as hard as the first time. Fortunately they were never too bad, or at least life threatening. Though there were many hospital trips made during her day; for her mother, for her father and for her brother.

And even for her family, in regards to herself.

She frowns as she sifts through the messages, receiving a few texts from Holly and discounting those as she zones in on the blinking light alerting her of a new voice message on her phone, one left by her mother. She quickly calls the number and listens to the voicemail:

_Gail, this is your mother. I-I need you to come home immediately. You must come. Steve is on his way. Be here soon, I'll be waiting._

That's it. Nothing else.

And so she lets her hand drop down to her lap as she clutches the phone, her eyes glazing over as she looks aimlessly through the windshield to follow the everlasting, unwinding road. It's like the car is swallowing up the pathway only to replace it with more grey, perpetual concrete. It's hypnotizing, until it's not.

"Stop the car, Price."

"W-what? Oliver-"

"Just stop the car." She feels sick as she recounts the message over in her head, analyzing the words carefully.

Her mother is home; her brother will be shortly.

But her father, where is he? Is he already home? What's the emergency? What can be so serious that it warrants her presence whilst she is on the job? She was taught from a young age that nothing takes precedence over duty – that the badge on her person is all that matters. Serve and protect at all times, alongside your fellow officers.

So to be pulled from that knowingly, well she can't possibly imagine the reason for it - for nothing would compete with her work. Nothing.

And so as she puts her phone away, she determines something terrible must have happened.

Chloe shortly pulls over to the curb, her eyes immediately seeking out Gail's as she tries to understand what's going on.

"Gail? We're nearly at the station. I'm sure everything's okay. Let's just-"

"I need to get home." She's not even sure why she's calling it home for she hasn't lived there for years now, but it seems fitting, natural almost. And maybe, just maybe, Gail wants to delude herself into believing her mother's words.

"And you will but we have to return to the station first, okay?" It takes Gail a moment, but she eventually agrees as Chloe nods her head in assurance. She smiles weakly at Gail, about to place her hand on her knee before thinking better of it, having caught on to the glare coming her way.

"Right, station, on it." She tries to sound like her usual self; tries to instil a sense of normalcy in her voice, if only to reassure herself in this position as she handles the steering wheel.

"Chloe?"

"Yeah?" She casts Gail a quick glance before focusing on the road, recognizing the usual haunts as they drive down the steet.

"This never happened." She almost smiles then, feeling Gail's snark back – even if it's only temporary.

"Got it, right, never happened."

They arrive at the station in less than a couple minutes, with Chloe barely shutting down the engine before Gail is already out of the car and heading into 15 Division without looking back. She doesn't care about the attention she draws as she cuts by numerous officers, her eyes scanning the crowd until she finds the one person in question that she needs to see.

"Oliver?"

"Peck, my office." She follows him through the workforce, weaving in and out of the desks and up the stairs before heading into the room. Oliver is already there by the time she arrives, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, his eyes failing to look at her directly.

And it's like a warning sign, another knot in her stomach.

"I'm gonna need your gun, Peck." Gail's brows lower at this as she subconsciously reaches out to grip her belt. She discreetly eyes the man before her, trying to discern a valid reason for this command.

"Why?"

"You're off-duty - effective immediately, per orders from above."

"Oliver, _why_? For how long?" Her words are soft and forgiving, which makes Oliver flinch as she clenches his jaw, directing his eyes finally at Gail. He outstretches his hand as he stands there firmly.

"You should go home, Gail." His voice is soothing, and in any other instance Gail would manage to find some serenity in that. But now, here? No. He's withholding information. He's informed. He knows something she does not, and she won't forgive him for not telling her when he had the chance to.

She doesn't breathe as she strips her waist of the belt, gun in tow, and thrusts it at him. He catches it in time as he watches Gail silently, his eyes stricken as he takes her in. As much as he wants to tell her, his hands are tied.

They have a moment of just staring at each other, sizing each other up before Gail relents and leaves the room, storming out in a haze as she tries to figure out where to go next, and how to get there. She vaguely recalls Oliver and Chloe as she heads out.

"Price, take Gail to the Peck residence."

"On it, Sir."

* * *

And so she is once again in the police car, sat in the passenger seat, adjacent to Chloe. It's barely the afternoon as she gazes out of the window, trying to understand everything and nothing at the same time. It's a limbo of sorts, trying to prepare for what's to come in a space where she currently knows nothing at all. But there's expectation, there's calculations that have led her to this very moment in time, and she's can't disregard that – she can't ignore the portents that have been building up over time.

She ignores the shrill notification that tells her she has received a new message, knowing that at this point there is nothing that will be able to change this, nothing at all. She just wants answers now.

All too soon they arrive, parking out front next to Steve's car as Chloe turns to look at the house.

"It's nice; big, a big house."

"House, yeah."

"I mean home, it's a nice home! I mean, it looks nice from out here-"

"Chloe." Gail doesn't look away from the window, but she can tell that Chloe is looking at her – she can feel her eyes making tracks over her face, reviewing it like she would a suspect. It's unsettling to say the least, for she never thought she'd be on the other side of it.

"I don't know what to say. Today just seems to be.. Well, I hope everything is- I mean-"

"_Chloe._" She can't stand it now, the way she's treating her, the way she's looking at her – no longer a suspect, but a victim. Gail almost hisses, but she gulps it down and faraway. Her hand digs into her thigh as she sits there, her eyes looking in the opposite direction as Chloe.

"Whatever happens, I'm here. Dov's here. Chris is here. Andy's here. We're all here."

She can see her mother's car, her brother's car, and yet not her father's. The absence seems to make it real, seems to split Gail's gut in two.

And it's then that she feels Chloe's hand pick at hers, and hold onto it tightly.

This immediately defuses all the alarm in Gail, and shuts her down to operate on sentient senses alone. For once Chloe's presence is appreciated, needed even as she sits there, silently coming to terms with news she has yet to hear. She's grateful that she doesn't speak. She's grateful that they sit there. She's just grateful.

But after a while, it becomes apparent that Gail must leave. She has to exit the vehicle and make her way into the house – the childhood home where she was raised by her mother and father, alongside her brother.

The place of residence that once was her entire life before she ultimately grew up and grew out of the dwelling. It makes being here during the daylight almost bittersweet; for Gail can't recall the last time she properly visited, other than for the monthly Peck dinners that Elaine was so intent on staging.

It dawns on Gail then that Chloe is right; it's a nice, big _house._

* * *

Eventually Chloe let's go of her hand, and Gail silently offers her gratitude in the form of her eyes locking with hers temporarily, her face void of any familiar spite directed her way as she slowly exits the car.

She makes her way up the drive, not looking back to Chloe who she knows is watching from the confines of the car as she as she arrives at the door. She's surprised to see the door open, left perilously on the latch as she enters cautiously.

"Hello?" She doesn't know how she's able to speak as she makes her way through the hallway and into the living room. It's then that she spots Steve's frame pace agitatedly back and forth in the center as Elaine sits perfectly perched upon the coach, looking straight ahead in a sort of daze. Both wearing their usual work attire.

"Mom, Gail's here now. So tell us - what's going on?" She hears Steve as he stands in front of her, signalling at Gail as Elaine finally looks to her.

"He's dead." It's an affirmation that she's been waiting to hear, and yet she can't quite absorb how it could still come to her as a blow, for it has immediately torn Gail's heart asunder. She can feel it, and all she wants to do is scream; to thrash, to do _something_ that could possibly channel this break other than through her heart.

It's a silent break that's unseen by her brother as he looks from Gail and to their mother, brows knotted in confusion.

"What? Who?"

"Your father, he's dead."

"Dead? He can't be dead. I saw him yesterday: he was drinking beer and laughing with his colleagues.."

"He expired this morning on his way to work. They're treating it as a suspected heart attack at this time. We won't know definitively until they've conducted an autopsy. That should take a few days."

Holly.

She feels her hand subconsciously pat the area her phone resides as she watches her brother turn and twist, unable to reconcile with the facts communicated to him. He shakes his head and sighs, clenching his knuckles as his features harden, refusing to believe the truth – refusing to believe any of this at all.

Gail almost feels envious, for he seems so sure in his conviction and in his denial – that she just wants to feel that too. She wants the uncertainty back.

"Heart attack? He's healthy. He's careful of what he eats - most days that is. He's in good health for his age."

"He was." The way Elaine says it makes Gail look at her, _really_ look at her as Elaine gazes back. It's this understanding that they already know, that they already feel it in the bones as they exist in this moment right here.

It's a reality they've been quietly anticipating their entire lives, and now they have to accept it's finally here. They have to stop running – there's no escape.

But Steve rebels.

"No, he's fine. We made plans to see a baseball game later this month. He wouldn't back out of them."

"Steven." It's the tone that forces Gail to look away as Steve sneers at their mother.

"No, don't _Steven_ me, mother. Dad is fine. I saw him yesterday-"

"And he's gone today. He didn't die in action like you would like to believe. He didn't die in his sleep, or on the job. He didn't die in the distant future – he died this morning, in his car, on his way to work. He lost control of the vehicle and crashed into an empty, parked car. Nobody else was hurt. I was assured that he died almost instantaneously."

They all breathe in this moment, this period created by Elaine in this living room, though it feels too heavy, too ill. It's consuming. It's despairing.

And it's then that Gail hears the hitch in her brothers breathing as he turns away once more, unable to keep his composure for a second longer under the weight of realization. She hears his shaky exhale, and the way he quietly gasps for air as he walks gingerly to the window and stares out.

The silence is now deafening. And it's not like they hadn't had their fair share of quietness before. But this, this is all-encompassing, to the point where even Gail feels the credence of her mother's words pressing down her throat. She feels the sickness slowly closing in; the reality of her life taking form.

She wishes that she wasn't right in her quiet observations leading up to this moment.

She wishes that her brother would have seen this coming too, if only to be spared of this sight right now.

She wishes her mother would show some humility.

She just wishes she was wrong.

She wants her father's car to be in the driveway. She wants to see her father's briefcase on the table. She wants to hear her father's favorite afternoon radio channel blaring out. She wants to smell the strong aroma of coffee her father's renowned for making. She wants to see the newspaper in her father's grasp as he mumbled to himself. She wants to watch her father's ridiculous shows and documentaries while on the very settee her mother is sat on.

She just wants and wishes and wants some more.

But she knows none of that will happen, at least ever again in her life. All she has now are memories.

"This.. This isn't right. Dad, he.."

"Died. After the autopsy is concluded, we'll bury him. We'll give him the service he deserves in this City. Many people-" Steve turns round then, abandoning his position at the window to reconnect with the discussion.

"Can you just stop talking about all of that for _one second!_ This isn't work. We're not _working_ right now. This is dad. And he doesn't deserve to be slighted like this. His _life_ doesn't deserve to be treated this way. Just stop talking. I need to.. I need a minute. I can't.." Steve shakes his head, looking between Gail and Elaine, unable to comprehend how they're both so calm right now.

"Gail. This isn't right." Gail looks away then, unable to meet her brothers eye as she remains standing there, in the very same spot as she arrived.

"It's not right, but it's happened." Steve turns to look at his mother then, unable to contain the outburst emitting from his chest.

"_This morning!_ Stop talking like it happened last week- or last month or last year. He _just_ died!"

Although she already knows and even feels it, it's something else entirely hearing it come from her brother's mouth. This raw realization that their father is gone, dead, never to be repeated or known again.

She'll never have a father again.

It's this darkness that sinks Gail, and hits her hard. She can feel it slowly ebb into her senses, overwhelming them until everything is just white noise and distortion.

She needs to breathe. She needs to get out of there, to get away.

And so she walks. She walks out of the room, away from the voices that call her as she clambers up the staircase and into the bathroom.

She needs a moment. She needs to breathe.

She just needs to feel it in the only way she knows how – in the only space she trusts. And it's not until the water is pouring and her body is soaked that she lets herself be overcome.


	3. The Wall

Helloooo. Once again I would like to offer my thanks to those who have shown interest in my story so far, it really does mean a lot! :)

I hope you enjoy this chapter and forgive me for any errors and such for I am without a beta.

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Chapter 3

The Wall

She sits lethargically on the lid of the toilet, wrapped up in a towel as she clutches her phone.

By now word must have gotten out because she's receiving so many messages - by people of varying Divisions and departments - that she can't possibly keep track. To be honest, she can't even read them because her mind won't register the words. They're too much, _it's_ too much, and so her eyes just glaze over as they stare at the screen; as if gradually morphing into a real life mannequin without much objection.

She idles, her eyes wide. She doesn't blink. She's just that:

Stationary, as if the bones in her body just decided to set and turn to stone because they can, with her limbs forever fixed in this motionless arrangement.

So utterly still.

And yet the dews from her hair slowly begin to crystallize until their sole purpose is to fall; to disturb the static in a world steadily being governed by gravity, so they can make their ethereal descent and impact softly upon the cloth of her towel. It's a soothing, repetitive action that enlightens Gail, offering her this real in a world fast becoming numb.

It's only when her phone begins to ring that she finally jolts from her reverie and her lids flutter, focusing on the screen to see that it's Traci calling.

She accepts the call before she even knows what she's doing.

"Gail? Gail, are you there? I just heard what's happened. I'm on my way. Are you okay? Is Steve okay?"

"Yeah."

"You're at your parents' house, right? I mean.." Right, she has one parent now. It takes a moment for Gail to comprehend this as she nods over the phone, only stopping when she realizes that Traci won't be able to see this.

"Yeah, we're here. I'm in the bathroom though. I should probably leave." She murmurs looking around the room, noting how very quiet everything is, how regular. She can even see her father's toothbrush there, even though she's aware her parents have their very own ensuite in their bedroom.

She smiles thinking about her father taking over this room after moving out, and how he would come in here because Elaine would be hogging their bathroom; always one to spend aeons crafting her meticulous, physical appearance. Not her father, he would even miss brushing his hair – though his do was of little maintenance. He'd spend ten minutes in here, tops. Mother on the other hand, she wouldn't leave her ensuite until she was essentially ready to leave.

Now all he has to show for his existence - his daily routine - is this one lousy toothbrush compared to the numerous health and beauty compacts filling up the cabinets in mother's ensuite.

"Leave? The bathroom or the house? I don't think you should be alone right now, Gail."

"Bathroom."

"Right, well I'm on my way, okay? I'll be there soon." She can hear how preoccupied she is over the phone; busy with whatever it is that she is doing as she engages in conversation. It reminds Gail that there's a whole world out there, just carrying on, as she hides away in this little den she's sought out for herself.

"Sure."

"Gail.." She takes a calming breath as she feels the full brunt of her name, and the weight of the connotation. She understands what Traci is trying to articulate during this time over the phone, and so she intercepts, not waiting to hear her finish.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks." She's not sure why she's extending her thanks, for it seems entirely foreign doing so, but it's an honest reflex, like an automatic response – even though it's known that any sign of gratitude is far from Gail's usual forte.

There's just something about Traci that doesn't innately threaten Gail, and she's known it from the start. She doesn't feel the need to retreat, and so she finds herself able to actually express herself, no matter however taxing that may be on the receivers end.

She knows that Traci can handle it.

And so they slip into a sombre silence, enduring it together until Traci sighs heavily.

"Well, I should go. You should go join your family, Gail." She can hear a clattering of sorts; a door slamming followed by an ignition, and so determines that Traci must be in her car now.

"Yeah."

"Or call Holly, unless.."

"Mm." It's awkward, and it's tense, but it's okay. It's better than nothing, which Gail appreciates. She appreciates that Traci is on the other end; she appreciates that she won't hang up the phone no matter how tough this conversation gets.

"You know it's illegal to be on the phone while you're driving, Nash." She hears Traci snicker softly before catching herself with a quiet exhale this time.

"Go be with them, Gail. Steve will need you – you'll need each other. I'll be there soon." She nods again as she straightens up, adjusting her towel. It's time and she knows it.

"Drive safe."

She then hangs up and puts the phone down onto her uniform, though her hand itches to reach back out and read the messages she knows are waiting for her, _from_ her. Instead she gets to her feet and exits the bathroom, leaving her attire there in her venture to get new clothes from her old bedroom.

* * *

She walks the few steps of the corridor until she reaches the north, rear facing bedroom to her right.

"Sis." He's already standing there in her room as she enters. She quickly scans the room, noting how nothing has changed at all.

Her bed is positioned in the middle of the east facing wall; a queen size that stretches to the middle of the room, with her wardrobe ahead, taking up half of the west facing wall where he brother is leaning. Her eyes dart to the window on the north wall straight ahead, noting the expanse of the garden from the doorway.

The white, pallid room does nothing to settle the goosebumps she feels as she absorbs how barren everything looks; how tidy and void of any subjective properties this good for nothing room is. She remembers her nights spent here; how she tried to make it liveable – but really, it never truly was. It was just a room, much like the others in the house (except for her parents room of course), that was deprived of temperament and individuality.

That is not to say that the room is not immaculate in its own contrived, minimalist value, of course.

It's probably why she doesn't have so much stuff at the frat house, besides clothing and shoes, that is. It makes her cock her head to the side as she considers the extent of her mother's methods, and how they've perhaps managed to ingrain into her very own subconscious without realizing.

With a shudder and a brief glance at Steve to acknowledge his presence, she heads to her dressing table to her left on the south wall and picks aimlessly at the few things she's left behind; a few books, some jewellery, hairbands – hardly anything personal, though.

"Brother."

She then seeks out the built-in wardrobe adjacent of the wall her brother is standing at, appraising the collection with notable distaste once the doors are open.

"I may have lost my cool back there." Upon hearing his words, Gail shoots a quick glance to her right, making sure to quirk her brow before returning to the closet. She pulls at the assortment of apparels that she can't for the life of her explain, for they exceed adolescence and poor judgements on her part.

Not that she would admit that to anyone, mind you.

She settles on a fitting black tank top and grey sweatpants, making sure to disappear into the wardrobe for some much needed privacy as she discards the towel to change into the clothes once out of view.

"Alright, I totally lost my cool back there. But mom, she.. This still doesn't…"

"I think I knew the second I received her message." She discloses softly out loud, more to herself than to her brother, but he receives the words all the same.

"You did?" She quickly puts on her underwear and sets about dragging the sweatpants up her legs with somewhat quaking hands.

"Actually, I don't think; I _know_." Gail resolves solemnly, pulling the tank over her head.

"How?"

"Her tone; the way she relayed the message to me and didn't include him. Suddenly we were separate from dad - wasn't hard to figure out after that." She returns from the wardrobe and deposits the towel in the corner of the room, crossing her arms over her chest as she gingerly runs her hands up and down her bare arms.

"How did you find out?" She asks inaudibly, not really sure if she wants to know as she closes the wardrobe and leans her left shoulder against the doors. She faces Steve, whose weight rests on his right shoulder on the adjoining wall.

They stand there, emulating each other, until Steve bows his head slightly.

"Mother called the office, summoned me home. Even when I was waiting, she didn't clue me in on what was going on. I had no idea. Maybe I should have known."

"You are the detective."

"Alright Gail, give me a break. This isn't something I could detect, even if I wanted to. And I never would have wanted to. I don't even-"

"Steve, you're doing that rambling thing." She retorts with something akin to appal, watching him awkwardly for a moment before looking past him to the wall accommodating the window. She takes this moment to overlook the back garden, and quietly resent how life seems to be carrying on; like it's an ordinary day outside when her entire world seems to be collapsing under the weight of inevitability.

With life there is death, and with death there is life.

She should know by now.

"Well this is unusual circumstances, so I'd appreciate it you could cut me some slack, okay, Sis?"

"When have I ever cut you slack?" The deadpan expression she engineers can be easily interpreted as emotionless; as completely void of feeling. But as she executes this refined act, she knows that Steve gets it – he gets _her._ And so he caves in and smiles, allowing this second of relief to creep in and sedate him.

After the moment dissipates, he shrugs pointlessly with his left shoulder.

"Good point." Gail smirks slightly at this before she opens up the wardrobe once again and digs in to retrieve a big, old wool jumper and throws it on. She realizes the second that she does that it used to belong to her grandmother, and just like that – instantaneously – another wave of loss hits her.

She clutches at the maroon fabric and closes her eyes, allowing the tide to embrace her momentarily - wondering if all we ever leave behind are small tokens of a life breathed: a life once known and lived.

A toothbrush here, a sweater there; it hardly seems enough.

"But maybe you can start today." It takes her a moment to remember the trail of discussion as she blindly closes the doors, wishing to prolong the sight she knows to be waiting for her as she finally turns and opens her eyes, looking directly at him. He looks back, his arms crossed over his chest with glazed eyes. It's enough to make Gail swallow and fight to keep her emotions abreast, for a loss of control now would serve her no use. She already cried in the shower, she doesn't want to cry again - especially in front of her brother.

It's then that she notices specks of blood dripping to the floor from where her brother is stood.

She looks up and spots how her brother is actually cradling his hand softly in the other, and it's enough to prompt Gail to move forward and assess the damage.

"What did you break?"

"I'll repair it." She frowns slightly as she watches Steve move away from the wall, to reveal an indentation on it. The stupid plaster giving way after what seems to be one hit - though quite the hit from the looks of it.

"Gives it character." Steve snickers as Gail waits for him to reveal the real damage, watching as he extends his arm and clenches his hand warily through the nerves. The first few knuckles are split open and smeared with blood, but nothing appears broken, at least. It would be a gruesome sight had they not seen much worse in their careers.

"Was it worth it?"

"Well I don't regret it." He confesses melodiously, his hand relaxing as they watch the way the skin slackens; the blood already congealing around the graze.

"The wall does though." Steve sniggers terribly as he looks up to Gail, finding his own joke funny. She just rolls her eyes as she fashions an exemplary disinterested face, taking stock of the wall once again.

"You had to go for the only wall in my room that's drywall."

"It was taunting me."

"I'm sure it was, just like the _other_ white walls, Steve."

"Don't act like this wall never bothered you when we were growing up. I mean, your bed faces this wall. The only way you know you have a wardrobe here is because of the handles. It's pasty, more pasty than you."

"This wall was my nemesis in all the known walls of our habitation." She glares at the wall, hating every inch that it encompasses.

"Exactly. Wouldn't you like to do something about it?"

"It's not like I haven't tried before. But hey, it only took dad to die for you to do something about it." The words roll off her tongue before she even records them, and the second they cognize, she watches Steve recoil slightly. She drops her sight to the floor, feeling once again anesthetized by the experience of living in a world where her father suddenly does not.

And apparently he's the butt of her jokes because of it.

"Maybe that's all you need now, too." She shrugs, eying the wall in question as they stare at it together.

"So you're advocating violence against an inanimate object."

"I wouldn't call a wall an object, Gail, but sure." He says moving to rest against the wall, eying Gail who turns and inclines against it too; the hole between them signifying their sorrow and acting as a silent reminder of why they're standing here in the first place.

It's comforting in all the ways that it is weird.

"Don't think Traci would appreciate the both of us bloody and bruised when she gets here."

"She's coming over?"

"Yeah." She can tell he had forgotten about her in all of this – it's easy to, and she understands it even. This wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence after-all.

It's kind of hard to focus on all of your loved ones when all you can emphasize is the absence of one.

"Well it was therapeutic for me. Mostly because of dad but mom too, she's being so.." Gail inclines her head toward Steve, watching him struggle before putting him out of his misery with an adequate enough answer.

"Elaine Peck about it." He nods in agreement as he goes about carefully crossing his arms as she continues to scrutinize him.

"Yeah. Peckish. Doesn't seem right somehow."

"And yet it's exactly right, because we should expect nothing else but our mother being like this."

"Dad balanced her out, now she doesn't even have that." She exhales slightly, noticing his choice in words as she finds herself looking away from her brother.

"You're finally catching on."

"On what?"

"Tenses." She can see him in her peripheral as he pushes himself away from the wall, restricting his jaw much in the same way his hands tighten to form into fists.

And once again it's like an open wound.

"Yeah, hanging around mother will do that." She accepts his terse response as she grows lax on the wall, amending to rest her back against it as she eyes the hole near the side of her head. She smiles slightly at it before her mouth forms into a flat line, moving her arms to her sides as she rests her palms over the plaster, flexing her hands empathetically.

"Did she say anything else, about what happened?" She's curious to know more as she stares at the back of Steve's head, watching as he shakes it faintly from a distance.

"Not really, just about what's gonna happen now, and the funeral."

"Funeral.." She looks down then, unable to search for more words as her hands still their motion on the wall and end up as balls by her sides. Her head lulls on the wall as she looks back up; acknowledging the way Steve equally bunches his fingers to form tight fists.

She often forgets they mirror each other from time to time, with how far and in-between they actually hang out, but there's no denying how similar they are in their idiosyncrasies – mannerisms picked up along the way that would typically help distinguish an individual from another, yet not in their case, it seems. It entwines them, connects them in spite of their sex and age.

It's a testament to their upbringing, if nothing else.

"Yeah, those fun events we used to go to every so often as children; and teenagers, and adults. Those occasions will never actually stop, you know?" He tilts his head back to glance at Gail, before looking away again, lost in his own mind. Gail takes this time to knock her fists meditatively against the wall, rocking on her heels slightly as she pushes away momentarily only to prop right back against again.

"I know."

"This will be the most hardest though."

"It will."

* * *

"I can't believe he's gone."

Steve exhales as he slumps down at the head of Gail's bed, staring out the door and into the corridor as Gail moves to sit next to him. She sits near but not too close, not feeling able to be to deal with that amount of proximity by any one at this point in time. Not even her brother.

"This was never a factor." Gail meekly offers as she follows his line of sight, noticing the frame hanging there on the wall. She had never really paid attention to the family photographs that filled up the hallways, but as she took in this particular image, she was taken aback by how drastically different they all looked:

It must have been many years ago as Steve stands smaller than their father – young and the epitome of youth. Bill towers over Steve with his fresh face and twinkling eyes, and she can even detect tiny traces of a mother who once placed her children first – with a warm smile upon her lips as she holds onto a small, grinning Gail.

They're at the cottage in Keswick, Georgina, ON; the one privately owned by her mother's colleague, whom would grant them access whenever their schedules would permit. She remembers they would drive there together, and thinking it was the longest journey ever – when really it wasn't.

She can recall the panoramic view of Cook's Bay, noting the position of the sun in the sky and wondering whether she would see anyone else around if she ventured just to the side of where the cottage was, even though she was aware that they were on a private beach.

She can still see the dock with the boat attached to it, and remember the times that her father and Steve would go fishing together. She always wanted to go but her mother would insist on her staying to keep her company until one particular morning her father had woken her up and told her that they were going somewhere.

She remembers how her father put an extra pair of socks over the ones she had on, even though she said her toes felt fine and it was pointless. He just smiled at her.

She remembers how her father made her put on the red duffle coat, making sure to do up all her buttons even though she was complaining that it was summer and hot out. He just smiled at her.

She remembers how her father brought with them equipment she had never seen before, a fishing rod that was considerably smaller than the one he used, even though it matched her coat. She said she could manage with the _real_ one. He just smiled at her.

She remembers how her father helped her into the boat on the quiet morning with the sun barely rising, her ears already pink and lips quaking. She said to hurry up and to get the boat started already. He just smiled at her.

She remembers how her father drove them further into the depths of Lake Simcoe, even though she said she didn't mind the shallow water and bulrushes and weeds. He just smiled at her.

She remembers how her father was there to help her learn all the ways to set up the reel and line, teaching her what to do and how to place the bait on the hook. She said it was gross, but put the large plastic worm on regardless, sporting a tiny grin. He just smiled at her.

And she remembers how her father was right there when hours later a fish finally took to her bait, and she said that she could handle it on her own, even though he wound up helping in the end and they brought the Largemouth Bass up in the air to view. She said it was cool. And he just smiled at her.

It's one of the most vivid memories she can recall with her father as a child, thinking to be about 9 at the time.

They stopped frequenting when Gail reached her teenage years, though.

And on reflection, those vacation times were the only real memories she can recall her parents being present, being happy – and being there as a mother and father should be.

Those memories were so long ago that she almost forgot they even existed at all.

"I don't suppose heart attack was."

"Nope."

"He looks so different there."

"We all do."

"How did we lose it?" The question takes her off guard as she flicks her eyes quickly to her brother, who seems equally entranced with the photo, before looking back to it.

"I don't know, but I wish we didn't. Maybe we never had it?" But she would be lying, because that photo right there, its proof – it documents a time when they had it – they had love, stability and kinship. They were once a family that knew each other, and somehow somewhere their priorities changed. Time passed, and they grew up in a world where knowing each other was no longer a primary, but an afterthought.

"I wish I wasn't a disappointment to him."

"Gail.."

"He had a son, that's all he needed – all he _wanted_. He got you, the detective. I was the mistake. There were no expectations of me, but I could still see disappointment in him. I'm just the beat cop."

"He loved you, Gail." It's this which propels Gail to her feet and to turn away from the family portrait, angered by Steve's words; angered he feels the need to even say them, angered that he thinks she needs to hear them.

But more than anything, she's angry she feels that she may actually need to know he did.

And it's this that motivates Gail to storm back to the wall - the wondrous drywall that exhibits her brother's grief - and gladly deliver a shot next to his feature in the plaster. The sound of impact does nothing to deter Gail, nor does it stop her from pulling her fist out and aiming to take another shot - red and skin and pain be damned.

All she can see is that smile, and it affronts her now.

"Gail." She's mid-thrust when he grasps her arm, pulling her away from the wall as she heaves, staring daggers at it. She eventually turns to look at Steve, who is half concerned, half amused by this display.

"You know he did, Sis. He loved you in all the ways that mattered- in the only ways that did." He lets go of Gail once he's certain she won't be making a repeat of her performance, somehow feeling better now that she's expressed some feeling about this too.

Gail just looks down at her fist, noting how her muscles tighten and idle, and how the blood seems to flow from the broken skin. It's a mess.

And it makes her smile.

"You know we could be Blood Brothers right now if we wanted to." She remarks, catching his eye as he chuckles.

"You do realize that we're actually siblings, right? We share the same DNA."

"Blood makes it better."

"Makes it gross, you mean."

"Better."

"Debatable."

"I get here to see the _both_ of you decided to take chunks out of walls?" They turn to see Traci linger in the doorway, uncertain of what to do. She frowns once her eyes zone in on their injuries though.

"I remember telling you to look after Steve, not to encourage him."

"He encouraged me, blame him." She mumbles, running the heel of her shoe over the stain on the floor. She's not even sure if it's her blood, not since he was dripping all over the place earlier.

"It's all her fault." Traci remains on the fringe of the room, leaning her side against the door-frame as she contemplates what to do next.

Elaine had let her in however absently as she hovered near the open doorway, leaving Traci with the wave of her hand as she spoke on the phone and walked away and into the living room with several folders. It was then that she heard a resounding bang originate from upstairs, and found her feet already pacing the stairs two at a time until she arrived in the only open doorway.

Truth be told she has no idea how to manage the Peck siblings in this state of trauma. It damn near paralyses her just thinking of the loss on their behalf as she observes them from afar, watching the way they communicate through their body language, almost to the point of mimicking each other.

It's quite the sight.

But Traci knows that they will need each other, that they will need those that understand them during this time. And so she breathes in, and steps forward.

"Any broken bones?" She inquires as she finally enters the room, eying them both as they shrug and look down to their recent creations. She decides on another route as she focuses on Gail.

"Have you called Holly?" There's a pause before Gail responds, ever so quietly.

"I don't want to speak to her, not right now." This startles Traci as she watches Gail, noticing the way she refuses to make eye contact with her.

"Gail-"

"Just no, okay? Look after Loser here, I'll be fine." Gail insists as she leaves the room, sidling by Traci as she goes. She can hear them mumble as she reaches the bathroom and enters, closing the door behind her in quick succession before locking it. She looks down to her hand as it hovers over the doorknob, snarling ever so slightly at its rough impression.

It wasn't really a smart thing to do on reflection, but she's here now, and so she embraces it - watching the skin flex as she moves her hand. After a while of staring, she puffs and looks away, catching sight of her abandoned uniform. There's never been a stronger urge to work than right at this moment, if only to escape from this existence for a bit - to put it all on the backburner for just a little while.

It's then that an incoming message airs, sounding loudly in the confined space, but she doesn't endeavor to answer it.

Right now all she can focus on is how it felt to hit that stupid wall, and how in that fixed second she thought maybe everything festering inside of her could finally be eradicated through this one blow.

It was wistful thinking, and it was pitiful, but she had hoped.

And she had failed.

But at least the wall looked a lot nicer than it did before.


	4. The Aid

Hey so, I just want to state that this story will focus mainly on the Peck family and how they come to terms with loss. That is not to say Holly will not be in this story; she will be, just like the rest of the other characters on the show, like Oliver, Traci and the Rookies.

So to answer the one Guest who left the review: yes, Holly is in this story, and she's in this chapter, but if that's all you're looking for then you will be sorely disappointed.

* * *

Chapter 4

The Aid

Gail should have known she would come, she should have anticipated it.

But losing a parent does wonders to the brain; a fact she soon comes to realize when she eventually does exit the bathroom sometime later. She sets in motion the return to her room, but barely makes it a few feet before halting her movement; a sudden witness to the spectacle as Holly emerges from the staircase.

She just appears out of nowhere, just like that.

And it leaves Gail mystified; she stops breathing – ponders why she's here, realizes why – and then starts breathing all over again.

It's a quick process which by the time she's finished, Holly is only just turning on her heels to look down the corridor; her eyes glazed in a sort of frantic unrest until she notices Gail and stops. Her entire form just stops, and it makes Gail's muscles tighten involuntarily the second Holly's eyes meet hers; her body always quick to react under those intense browns as she immediately feels the weight her gaze.

And it's like they hang there in this incoherent, yet entirely connected moment where their realities slowly dull and softly blur together to remove all shades of pain, paving way to the only direct focus that matters in this instance; this wondrous tethering between them.

It lasts all but a second before the world demands it back.

Holly's face becomes awash with feeling as she employs her limbs to move, and stalk the lengths of the hallway until she's stood right in front of Gail, unable to take her eyes off of her. She wants to kiss her, hug her, console her; do anything to appease her. Say all the words she wants to hear, and then all the words she wants to say.

She wants to say them all.

She eventually notices the hand smeared with blood and decides to inspect it, reaching out automatically to seize it tenderly with her own.

"What did you do?" She analyzes the injury, moving the hand from side by side; up and down as she critiques it behind her specs. Her brows furrow under the strain of concentration, noting each abrasion and infliction as she works to consciously hold back a wince.

"Why are you here?"

"Of course I'm here." She expresses curtly, like it's a given as she continues her deft assessment, and it makes Gail try to reclaim her hand back.

Holly doesn't let her.

"You shouldn't be here. I don't want you here." It's terse, blunt and everything Holly expects to hear, yet it still hurts all the same. She takes a steady breath, making sure to compose herself in this brief respite before directing her eyes indomitably at Gail, determined more than ever to stay.

"That may be so but your hand needs me here, otherwise it's going to be treated later for infection, amongst other things you probably wouldn't like to hear." Holly then navigates them into the bathroom, choosing to ignore the exhale from Gail's mouth as she sets about mending her hand. She roots through the bathroom cabinet and retrieves a small first aid kit in there. It's not comprehensive by any means, but it'll have to do.

She puts on the latex gloves supplied and tries to stop her hand from shaking as she begins to scrub the skin carefully with the wipe, swabbing away the excess blood caking Gail's hand.

"You're lucky, this could have been a lot worse."

"I'm not lucky at all." She refrains from sighing as she gently eliminates the dust, blood and plaster from her knuckles. Once she's certain she's got it all, she applies some ointment and places the sterile bandage over the injured area. Rolling it around and around until it covers her hand, and she cuts it off with the little pair of scissors supplied before securing it in place.

"They asked me to- I couldn't. I.." She looks away, occupying herself as she sorts out the mess made from cleaning up Gail's hand. It's easier to tend to this, rather than to look at the face of the woman she adores, and watch her react.

"They wanted you to do the autopsy on my father." It's not a question, but somehow Holly feels it warrants an answer.

"Yes."

"And you didn't."

"That's correct."

"Why?"

"I'm too close. I wouldn't be able to. And not after.." She sighs, putting the used items in the small bin in the corner before removing the gloves and disposing of those too.

They had made a personal request for Holly to perform the autopsy, insisting that she be the one to conduct it with her expertise in the field, and relation to the Police department as a whole - even going so far as to try and persuade her into doing it.

In any other instance she would have felt threatened by the sheer display of manipulation, but not this time, no.

For she understands.

She could see Bill Peck's influence in the authoritative figures stood before her, knowing they only wanted the best to uphold his eminence in the City. He had made a lasting impression on many people, networking in various sectors to show just how important of an asset Bill was. And so with all these reasons in mind; out of honor for her profession, for the force and for the general population who were blessed to know Bill - she respectfully declined.

Because as much as he was Bill Peck; Inspector of the Metropolitan Police Service, he was also Gail's dad.

Not to mention that it would be highly unprofessional on a personal level; not that anyone outside of Gail's circle would know, of course.

"I don't know how to process last night. Not yet, I can't. We'll talk, just.. Not right now."

"Okay." She says leaning against the sink as she watches Gail look down at the bandage, her fingers tracing over the top of it nervously.

"I will- we will eventually, just not right now."

"It's okay, Gail."

"No it's not, but it will have to be."

"I'm really sorry about your father." Holly notices the tremor; she records everything that Gail does. And because of it she can't help herself; she leans forward ever so marginally, directing her person to be closer, to just be nearer even though she can tell that it's difficult for her.

Her hand wasn't the only one shaking when she cleaned her up.

"Please just.. Let me be here? If not for you then for me, I can't be anywhere else right now."

Gail merely nods, looking up briefly before looking back down to her hand, not knowing where to place herself, especially in the confines of the bathroom. Her eyes trace the room under her lids, trying to be sly as she thinks of how she can get out of here. It's then that she actually acknowledges that the door is ajar, and so she itches toward it, however slight.

Holly is aware of this, as always.

"How about we go see what everyone else is doing? Unless you want to be alone right now? Would you like some tea?" She doesn't know why she's rambling, but she can't help herself. Usually Gail would do something about it, but she just watches her, unable to do anything about it at all.

"Steve hurt his hand too."

"What did you guys do exactly, hit a wall?"

"Something like that." Holly can feel the frown start to form, but quickly rids of it, knowing that she has no control over how Gail chooses to grieve, whatsoever. To be fair, she hasn't the faintest on how to, anyway.

"I'm sure the wall looks better for it." Gail snickers under her breath, allowing her this one as she looks at Holly with something akin to lightness. She'd never admit it but she really is glad Holly is here. For all their confusion, and all the sadness, she's rapidly proving to be a constant in her life.

And she desperately needs that right now.

The fleeting small smile quickly fades as Gail seeks out the door; her steps measured until she reaches it and dithers warily under the frame, looking back to Holly.

Holly dips her head and smiles softly at her, following her out as they enter the hallway.

* * *

Gail knocks on the door, even though it's her room. She pushes it open and sees Steve and Traci sitting on her bed, legs crossed as they face each other. She watches Traci's thumb caress the back of Steve's hand carefully as they sit there, turning to slowly face the visitors.

"Hey Sis, all cleaned up and minty fresh?" Gail rolls her eyes and steps slightly away from Holly, crossing her arms over chest defiantly.

"Ass."

"You guys weren't kidding about the wall." Holly remarks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as to gain a better visual of the wall in question. Steve shrugs while Gail moves into the room, deciding to claim it back as she stalks the bed. She frowns adamantly, staring decisively at Traci who just looks back at her, immune to the sass. It causes Gail to unwind her arms and exhale noisily.

"The wall was asking for it." Steve says, looking to his sister with a raised brow, inquiring quietly to her behavior only to watch her huff again and turn away.

"Don't suppose it will be asking for it anymore." He laughs at Holly's response and rolls his head her way to shoot her a smile.

"How's the hand, brother?"

"Brand new. And yours, sister?"

"Never been better."

"This is weird, right?" Holly muses out loud as they all look at her, but she's speaking more to herself than anything.

"I mean, this way of communicating. It's weird. They have their own form. I feel like they should have a suffix on the end, something that relates to or of belonging to – like Peckish." Traci chuckles softly at this, looking between the two Pecks in question.

"Peckish, I like that." Steve narrows his eyes at Traci before looking to Gail.

"What is she talking about?"

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure it was a compliment." She utters looking directly at Holly, noting the slight blush as she diverts her gaze to stare conveniently at the wall.

"We are pretty complimentary."

"All part of the gene pool."

"Wait, didn't I come up with this term earlier? Should I patent it before somebody else does? Either way we're unique, only the Pecks can be Peckish."

"Can't argue with that. But as much as I'd love to watch this go on, I think we need to clean your hand up - it's not a good look on you, Peck." Traci says as she lets go of his hand and gets up, looking down to Steve who sighs in response, not wanting to get up.

"I can clean it for you?" Holly offers as she steps foot into the room, finally feeling like she can.

"She _is_ a Doctor." Gail cuts in, holding up her hand to demonstrate the workmanship. Before she can stop herself, she continues:

"And not bad for a dead people Doctor, either." Somehow the weight of the word alone is enough to cause damage as they all fall silent, thinking to the whole reason as to why they're here right in the first place. It's enough to make Steve push himself up and off the bed, and saunter over to Holly.

"Promise you'll be gentle with me, Doc?"

"As long as you promise to be a good patient." She retorts, casting her eyes quickly to Gail who has since strolled over to the wall, and is now facing away from them. She feels Steve press his free hand onto her arm, reining in her attention as he regards her kindly. He looks back to Traci who is already making her way over to Gail's side, taking care to be tentative in her approach.

"She'll be okay."

"Let's see about making the both of you okay, shall we?" Holly answers returning her gaze to Steve, forcing a smile before guiding them from the room and into the bathroom.


	5. The Paint

Chapter 5

The Paint

"I never thought I'd think some holes would do a wall some good, but it really does." Gail peers at Traci through hooded eyes before diverting her gaze back to the wall, inspecting the indentations for herself. She can't help but gnaw her lip softly, noting how Steve's impact is wider and far deeper compared to her shallow entry.

"Your room is kind of bland, Gail." She blinks slowly at this admission, her lips twisting to form a small smile dripping with contempt.

"_All_ the rooms are bland; it's my mother's specialty. Excel within your field, but never forget who you are, where you come from and where you are going. Be brilliant, be better. The further you go, the more you compromise." Traci motions closer to the wall, her eyes narrowing as she examines the drywall intensely. She knows not to speak when Gail is like this, knowing that this is not the time for she's not finished quite yet.

"I remember once, I tried to paint my room orange. Actually started with this wall.. but she ended up getting the paint stripper and redoing it. Didn't see the light of day for the next fortnight, not to mention the headache I got from having to listen to her go on and on about how wrong I was for painting my room an obscure color."

Traci snickers lightly as she steps back, eying Gail as she stands by her side, taking her in. She can see how drained she is; how emotionally spent, but there's a hardness trickling over that concerns her. Worries her because she _knows_ it, she felt it – she'd been there herself. That cold reality was dealt to her, and the hollow was fast scooping out Gail's center – her authenticity.

And replacing it with darkness.

Many people would discount this, would be haste to claim that Gail has no true depth, but Traci knows otherwise. She's aware of these aspects, facets that even Gail cannot grasp, and this is why she is anxious because if Gail cannot detect the profundity of her emotions already inside of her, then she will never feel the loss of them.

How can she when she fails to realize they even exist at all?

And so Traci will fight for Gail to know, to grieve and to feel – because like Hell was she going to let her friend collapse under this weight. She would make sure Gail would survive this, with her heart intact; with everyone she loves surrounding her.

Because the one thing that Gail needs to realize is that she loves others without even being conscious of this. And that Gail is infinitely, for better or worse, loved.

"Dad did nothing." Before Traci can attempt to pull Gail out of her brain, Steve and Holly are already making tracks back into the room.

"That's a lie and you know it." He announces with his hand freshly bandaged as he makes his way stealthily over to them, smiling softly at Traci before redirecting his attention to his sister. Gail all the while continues to look at the wall, not really acknowledging his physical presence back in the room.

"Right, he laughed for all but 2.5 seconds before shutting up and taking mom's side."

"He thought it was hilarious, wanted to leave the wall orange." She smiles slightly at this as she finally registers Steve's form, turning her head to look at him.

"Over mom's dead body." She forces her head ahead of her as she clenches her jaw, her body stiffening at what she just said. She shakes her head angrily as she releases a deep, haggard breath.

"God, why do I keep making jokes?" She spits harshly, her eyes roaming over the wall before turning away sharply. It's all too much.

She feels everything and nothing at all.

"It's okay, Gail." She looks to Holly then, who remains standing near the doorway, her eyes watching Gail closely. All she can do is shake her head as she refuses to accept her words – the same words spoken to her time and again, because they don't sit right. Things aren't okay, and she knows the way she's behaving is _not_ okay.

The evidence is palpable in Steve's face alone.

"No, it's _not_. It's insensitive and fucked up." She grumbles, stomping away from her brother and Traci to stalk towards Holly, only to stop and move away to pace the room instead. She can't stay still, she can't look at anyone. She feels like she's stuck in this room, and there's no way out. And the thing that she finds real troubling is that she's created this tension for herself – she's built it up and now she can't escape it.

"It's bound to come out when all your mind is trying to do is suppress it." Gail stops then, unable to move an itch more as she sets her sights on Holly.

"Well I'm not suppressing anything, he's dead." It cuts, and she knows it does. It hurts everyone involved - including her own heart - but she's already speaking and the words are flowing and so she continues. She looks to Steve next.

"He died. He was here one minute and now he's gone. He's just gone and all we can do is feel it." She can see the twitch, the way he's trying not to react. She knows him well. She can read him in spite the many changes and growths over the years. He's still the same brother who used to pick on her, who used to fight with her and who would always demand more from her – though far less than her parents.

She preferred his approach, the way he would get things done. The way he would always take her side, but never really know how to execute it; she appreciated it nevertheless.

She removes her eyes from her dejected brother, unable to direct the hurt at him anymore. She shrugs as she looks away.

"And tell jokes apparently." She draws the lip in-between her teeth as she looks down to the carpet aimlessly. She's never felt so small in her life, and there have been many times that have come close to this. Many speeches, many appraisals from her mother, many words that cut the skin by her so called friends. But this, this hurts the most, because there's no external source - this is _all_ her.

"You couldn't make this a joke even if you tried, Gail. Every single one of us in this room knows that." He's right, and she knows it. And so they hang there in this moment of mercy, trying to make it out alive. After a while, she dares to look at Steve.

"I still have the paint." She watches as he smiles then, noting the dimples on his face as he starts to laugh unabashedly.

"I'll get the brushes." He then immediately heads out, to where she's not sure, but she feels like they're on a mission as she darts to the wardrobe and sees about finding that container of paint she stole back from her mother who confiscated it.

She had fantasized about painting her room orange, or even just the one wall, ever since she was forbidden. And now that she no longer lived here, she saw no reason as to why she couldn't. It was still technically her room, and she even stayed here from time to time. But really, it held no true value to her.

It was just a room, with a bed and a few memories.

"Ah. Knew it." She mumbles, pushing some junk away from the bottom of the floor to reveal the tin of paint that she reclaimed.

"We're really gonna paint your room, Gail?" Traci voices as she moves over to where Holly is standing, watching on as she pulls the paint from the cluttered wardrobe.

"Can't see why not, though I could only find two brushes: looks like it's just you and me, Sis." Steve says making his way back into the room, shooting the standing women a quick grin before heading over to Gail who is kneeling down over the paint.

"This stuff better still be good."

"Where did you get it from?"

"Johnny. He said it was premium paint as well as a load of other crap, but I wasn't really listening." She admits as she tries to pry the orange lid off of the container.

"You do realize this won't be enough to paint your whole room, right?" Gail just makes an unintelligible sound and forces the lid off, looking down into the paint to make sure it's still the same consistency as it was all those years ago.

"Let's paint the wall." He asserts gaily, nodding toward the imperfect, cavity ridden white drywall across from them. Gail frowns slightly before looking to Steve.

"Fine, but I get the red brush."

"Well I prefer the green one, anyway." He remarks offhandedly, feeling Gail snatch the paint brush from his grasp as they stand up at the same time. He picks up the paint by the handle and moves it on over to the wall before dropping it there.

"Aren't you going to put on some protective wear first? Maybe cover the floors?" Gail shrugs at Holly's questions, twisting her head back to watch Traci and Holly move over to the bed and rest down onto it gingerly. They look so baffled that it prompts Gail to smirk, feeling that maybe she's not the only one who doesn't know how to act.

It's a general consensus then.

"Think we'll just wing it."

"I'd say so."

Nobody speaks of the woman who would go crazy, or of the man not present to witness it. They just go about starting on the wall, making the action that much more important for it.


	6. The Treehouse

**Two updates in the space of a couple hours! Yeah, this is definitely a fluke and most probably won't be happening again in the future. But I'm going to try and update at least once a week. Emphasis on the try..  
**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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Chapter 6

The Treehouse

She watches her brother dip the brush into the paint and then set about applying it to the wall, his fingers holding the brush awkwardly in his grasp due to his injured hand. She smirks slightly before turning away and walking over to the bed occupied by the subdued, softly speaking women.

"Could you look after this?" It's not so much a question as she strips herself of the cozy wool jumper, dumping it eagerly on Holly's lap before turning on her heels.

She doesn't linger long enough to hear the intake of breath as she picks up the brush.

The good thing about ambidexterity is that while her right hand aches, she can simply use her left to hold the brush and start about painting with ease – an attribute that was not unfortunately gifted to her brother, who makes sure to capture Gail's line of sight to glare unashamedly at the disadvantage before returning to his patch of the wall.

"It's coming along really nice, guys." She rolls her eyes at Traci's remark, hearing the timbre of wit as sets about spreading as much orange over the wall as possible.

"Well you could get off your ass and help."

"Two brushes, Gail. What do you expect me to do, hand paint?"

"Why not?" Gail stops, turning around to look at Traci who looks incredulously at her.

"She's right; that would be more fun. Plus, my hand is already hurting." She casts her eyes to her brother, snickering under her breath.

"Wuss."

"Cheat." Her brow arches with irk, flinging the paint brush in the air as she confronts him.

"How am I a cheat?"

"You don't see me painting with my left hand now, do you?"

"Well you _do_ have two hands, so, that's your choice." Before they can continue with their bickering, they notice Holly abruptly stand up and move on over to them. They both stop, immediately seizing up as they watch her with curious eyes, following as she bends down and plonks her hand right into the paint before pressing her palm hastily against the wall.

"There, that should do it." She says giddily before looking between the two Pecks. Her mouth forms a tight line as she watches them consider her, wondering momentarily if maybe it was the wrong thing to do.

Before Gail just flat out laughs.

Traci watches on feeling more bemused than before as Steve chuckles, inspecting the hand print.

"You have good hands, Holly."

"Thank you, I grew them myself." It's only then that Gail comes down from her laughing fit, her injured hand clutching her side while her left hand wields the brush, holding it safely out to her side in case it gets anyone.

"Now _that_ is what I call helping." She forgets for a moment as she looks at Holly, her eyes softening briefly before being reminded. And it's like their actions are in reverse, and never quite on the same wave length – for just as Holly allows herself this moment of reprieve from it all, Gail is now restoring her wall that was momentarily down.

For a moment they see it in each other, the longing to just be, and to just be okay. But after the Penny, and after what's happened, it doesn't feel like it's possible, at least not right now.

Holly sighs softly as she moves back from them, offering a courtesy smile as she looks down to her hand and crinkles her nose.

"I'm just going to.. wash my hands." She then exits the room, heading to the same bathroom she's frequented twice now, only it's to mend her own mess this time.

Gail watches her leave and feels the imminent drop in her heart. It's nothing compared to what's happening, but it's perceptible enough to hurt.

"Seriously, what's going on with you two? I thought it was just you being.. But Holly's definitely acting weird too." Gail exhales deeply as she removes her gaze from the bedroom door, making a point to ignore Traci on the bed before she looks back to the wall. She looks at Steve to see him idly flicking his brush at the wall, taking relief in wherever it lands as she sets about raising her brush and doing the same.

"Just leave it, Trace." She doesn't expect her brother to speak on her behalf, but she's grateful for it as she scoops up more paint onto her brush and presses it against the wall, watching it cover more than half the white wall – excluding the wardrobe and holes and all – from the center.

"You were too young to know this, but mom made me paint most of the walls in the house. Made it into a game. Should have known it was for her benefit when I won nothing at the end."

"Sounds like mom." She mumbles bitterly as she stabs the wall with the brush. The specks of paint splatters at all angles on impact as Steve dodges out of the way.

"Yeah. Do you remember that time dad wanted to build that treehouse for us, but mom vetoed?" She stops painting for a moment as she shoots daggers at Steve, hardly believing that he even has to ask.

"Do I remember? I cried for four days and refused to leave my room. I hated her so much for that."

"Well, he got all the materials and everything. Thought it would be okay until she shut it down. You know what reason she gave?" He lulls, enjoying the suspense as he bends down gingerly to recover more paint. It's only as Steve dabs the paint brush in and collects some that Gail finally responds.

"Surprise me."

"She said treehouses are 'inconsequential'. That you would end up not using it and that I would end up using it too much – therefore by her logic, it wouldn't serve us any good." He proclaims candidly, making sure to direct his attention back to wall as he attempts to hold the paint brush better in his hand before moving it back and forth against the wall. They were really making strides now, and fast running out of paint.

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Yeah, but dad building it would."

"But he didn't."

"Oh, but he did." He hears her stop then, flinging the brush onto the floor carelessly as he watches her in the corner of his eye.

"He did?" He smiles knowingly as she crosses her arms, devoting her attention to every last word as he continued on with his half-arsed efforts at painting with a crippled hand.

"Yeah. You were at school at the time, think you were in grade 2 or something and I was.. Well, let's say, I wasn't looking to go into school that day. And I noticed some noise coming from the back of the garden, so naturally I checked it out. Low and behold, there's dad."

"Building the treehouse?" He finally concedes as he throws the brush down into the paint container. He motions his hands, looking at the wall intently before glancing up to look at his sister. Upon seeing her expression, he smiles.

"Building the treehouse. He wasn't doing a bad job of it either. He clocked on to me and made me help, even. And we were making some real progress before.."

"Mom." It doesn't take a genius to work it out as he nods empathetically.

"Yeah, and she was pissed." She can see Steve reliving that day as he goes about fidgeting on the spot – a sign that he was uncomfortable. She can't exactly blame her brother, for just thinking about her mother has her reacting the same.

"Unfortunately not the good kind." He sniggers at this as she recounts the few times they've witnessed their mother intoxicated – those were better times.

"So she made us stop, undo all we did and-"

"Cut the tree." The realization hits Gail as she moves to the window in her room, eager to see the stump in its place that's been there ever since. She had always wondered what happened to that majestic tree, and now she knows.

"Yeah, cut the tree down. So by the time you came home, you had no idea any of that happened. You know he didn't speak to her for like a week, right? He was pissed too, we both were."

"I can't believe he did that." She feels her brother's presence beside her as they look out of the window and into the back garden. Many a time they had spent there; laughing, sulking, playing games. If she listens closely enough, she may even hear her younger self bellow out hysterically, demanding to be heard from the secret garden that was once her play pen.

But now, now it's different. She can only recall those times when she was younger – no older than ten.

And really, she didn't want to acknowledge just how her life had been influenced even before that.

"I told you, Gail. Dad loved you; he just didn't get the chance to show it." She can't quell the fury fuming inside of her as she turns to look at her brother – the only one who gets it.

"_Don't_, don't do that. He had plenty of chances to."

"And he did every chance he felt he could." She scoffs at this as she takes a conscious step away from her brother, forgetting the presence of anyone else as she focuses on him from a distance – it's the only way she can think straight and deliver her sentiments.

"Yeah, and those times are just aren't enough now, because what do we have? What do we _have_, Steve? A few lousy memories of how a family should be over the countless memories of being home alone or ignored or in trouble-"

"No family is perfect, Sis." It's such a lame excuse that it infuriates Gail further, watching as he stands there openly, as if readying himself for the onslaught. It fuels her; it makes her want to bite.

"No, I get that. But our family is far from normal, either. I mean, look at that picture." She points blindly to the frame outside, reminding him as he dares to take a look. He returns his gaze once he's done, and the impression it leaves makes Gail bite harder.

"We had that at one point. _They_ had that; 2.5 kids, a marriage, a home. Who wants more than that? Who puts their career before their family?" She knows she's projecting, she knows that it's all rushing out, but she can't stop it. All these thoughts, all these words. It's flooding from her, and even though they are, she still feels like she's drowning.

"Gail, you know our parents. You know-"

"No, I _know_ how mom is, and I _knew_ how dad was. And there was and is nothing loving about them." She thinks it will get through to him, that the words will hurt like it does her, but they don't. She watches her brother grow tall, his muscles overwrought with nerves as he looks determinedly at Gail. It's only then that she realizes her bite didn't even scratch the surface.

"That's a lie and you know it, Sis. You can't simplify our family because you know it's not that straightforward. You know by now how much they've given up for what they've achieved in their professions - what our relatives and your godfather and all of them have done in their years in the force. It's a continuous cycle of giving, and you're in it as much as you talk about not wanting to be. This life, this family, this is what you know. It's what _we_ know. And you should be thankful for it, because it's_ not_ perfect and it's _not _normal, but it sure as hell beats simple."

She can already feel the tears forming in her eyes, and she hates herself for it. Yet she sees them in her brother's eyes too – yet for different reasons. Reasons she acknowledges but fights. And so he persists, not yet finished.

"The rules, our childhood, the treehouse - it's all for a reason. It's why you're here right now; it's why you're a cop. It's why you're a _Peck_. And you may not have been expected, and you may have not been brought up the way you would have liked, but you _were_ wanted. You _are_ wanted. You're loved. If you take anything positive from dad's death, is that you _know_ that, Gail. You need to know that."

She's never seen her brother speak so much, or respond so emotionally, but here he stands – and she's never been more grateful for it.

It may hurt, and she may doubt, but these words are already materializing in her head, and sinking into her heart. Because she wants more than anything to believe them; she wants more than anything to believe that those brief and fleeting instances spent with her family were real, for those sacred moments are all she has now.

And she will draw upon her memories and summon them into focus to scrutinize - but now, in the future she will keep her brothers knowledge in mind; she will carry the words with her until they bleed into her imagination, and like the treehouse, she envisages her father and brother working endlessly toward making it a reality.

Now she knows better. Now she knows it existed, and she's never felt more crushed in her life, because this idyllic picture was almost nearly complete, until it wasn't. And she has the Peck legacy and her mother's rules to thank for that.

"You know what sucks, brother? Knowing that in his entire life, mom eclipsed him, and he let her. He just fucking let her."

"That's love, Sis. Don't act like you don't know." She snorts at this and wipes angrily at the sides of her eyes, willing to banish the tears that are fast becoming all she can see in her vision.

"Love just fucks you up, and if it doesn't, then they will."

"I don't know; mom and dad seemed pretty happy."

"And all kinds of fucked up because of each other."

"All part of the package. You get the vacation days, and you get the treehouse days. Just gotta roll with the punches."

"Yeah, I think I'm all punched out." She remarks quietly as she looks away from her brother only to end up noticing Holly's presence in the doorway, hovering there like she's not quite sure where to place herself. She can tell by the way Holly slowly moves to stand up straight that she has been here the entire time, and she's not sure whether she's glad for it, or just sad.

"You do realize that you blend in now, Steve?" Traci remarks firmly, trying to garner everyone's attention.

"Eh?"

"Wall." She points evidently to it before directing her index finger to the top of Steve's head.

"Hair.." She snickers, waiting for the penny to drop as she watches his reaction.

She can't help but cast her eyes quickly to Gail and Holly, hoping that this might diffuse any discomfort that may have been forming. She can see that Gail is reluctant to embrace her efforts, with the way she carries herself awkwardly. It doesn't seem to be doing Holly any good either as she grows visibly upset.

Before Steve can respond to her mockery, Holly takes a decisive step into the room and strolls on over to Gail, clearly on a mission as she tugs determinedly on her wrist.

"We'll be right back." She voices to the room while she eyes Gail specifically, not caring to direct the words to anyone in particular as she pulls Gail with her as they exit the room. Traci is surprised that she didn't give much of a fight, but shrugs, stretching her legs on the bed.

"You know there's better ways to get a laugh than out of your boyfriend's expense, right?" She hums as he pouts miserably, making his way over to her. He then slumps down to the bed, shifting his body to lie down beside her as she crosses her legs. She watches knowingly as he rests his head on her lap, nudging ever so slightly as he tries to get comfortable in this position.

"Especially when he can be sensitive to such quips concerning hair color." She smiles slightly as he nuzzles more, running her fingers gently through his thick, strawberry blond hair.

"Alright, Garfield."


	7. The Talk

**Hey, so to milagros (Guest); this is a slow burner. I've previously tried to explain this story but I suppose I should reiterate just in case others are wondering too:**

**I will focus primarily on the Peck family because it revolves around them; in particular, Gail, as she's the main POV I'm running with. This is not to say romance won't be included – it's just that at the moment everyone is struggling to come to terms with the loss, and they're still only hours into this revelation, so..**

**And also following the 5x03 episode, things are kind of up in the air for Gail and Holly. As for Steve and Traci, I've tried to convey on the side-lines their well-being, but I don't suppose that's the romance you were inquiring about.**

**I'm not sure what your expectations are for this story (and that goes for everybody else), but clearly I'm not delivering what you want thus far. I'm just trying to write this piece for me, and for others that might want to read this fictional insight of the Peck family. **

**But I don't know..  
**

**Gah.**

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Chapter 7

The Talk

She follows awkwardly behind; her back conspicuously hunched over as she looks to the ground, watching as her feet shuffle along.

She previously wanted out of her bedroom; to be anywhere but there, and now she has her wish - but at what cost?

For her wrist is still detained by the grace of Holly's hand, and it's an uncomfortable affair that Holly seems intent on having while she endeavours to open the closest door to them. Once in, she finally relinquishes her hold on Gail, her attention straying as she migrates to the middle of the room. She twists her body round to review it with subtle bemusement.

"Woah, this room is exactly the same as your room." The resemblance is striking, though on closer inspection she can see that there is no built-in wardrobe, but rather a considerable size of chest of drawers in its place that just so happens to be white, too. Shocker.

"Yeah, it's Steve's room."

"Are you sure? I'm starting to get a 1408 feel about this." She teases; absently casting her sights on the clock before taking in the rest, especially with the lack of orange on the wall that could easily be hers.

"You've watched that movie?"

"I'm seen a variety of movies, but that's beside the point. Listen, I thought I could do this. I thought I could be here; be supportive and do what I can to try and make this better for you, except it appears I can't. I can't and it makes me selfish because I shouldn't be making this about us, especially now. But when you say things like that, you can't expect me not to react like this." Gail watches her as she begins to pace, pressing her askew glasses back to the bridge of her nose as she eyes the floor. It's a wild; disorientating moment that unease's Gail, making her wish she could telepathically communicate with her so she could implore her to stop.

To just stop before she feels nauseous again.

"What Lisa said about you last night, it was entirely justified." It's not what she was expecting, and she can't help but narrow her eyes somewhat at the brunette, feeling affronted.

"_Justified_? Really Holly, you're-" She doesn't get to finish as Holly stops before her, looking directly into her eyes.

"Justified for that narrow, misinformed brain of hers. She doesn't know you, and I haven't exactly gone into great depths about us with my friends. So she did what Lisa does best; she makes sweeping judgements based on the evidence she knows. Does that make it right? No. Does it make what you said and did, right? Absolutely not. They were _her_ assumptions, Gail. Those were _her_ words, and you used them against me as a means to create an emergency exit; don't think I don't know what really happened, because I know what you did."

Holly can see the tension in her eyes, the way she's overwhelmed, and it makes her want to reach out – to touch her, but she knows she hasn't earned that right yet – neither of them have.

"And I feel awful about all of this, because if I just sat you down or if you had just told me about how you were feeling then we could have avoided this. Last night wouldn't have been so brutal had we been more honest to ourselves and to each other." Gail continues to appraise her, trying in her numbed state to absorb her words, and it's difficult when Holly is being so earnest and all Gail can do is barely listen.

But she tries; she blinks and remains motionless as she tries to connect the pieces together of a night that felt so long ago. The entire thing feels like some sort of absurd dream that never fully fleshed out, not with the downfall of today.

And she suddenly feels another pang as she remembers, her eyes losing focus as she drops her gaze from Holly.

"What happened today, this morning.. I can't even begin to imagine, Gail. I know loss; I've been there but it's a different _kind_ of loss because I never knew them. I have no memories of my parents, only the fragments of growing up in Foster Care. So I _can't_ know, and I can't possibly understand but I want- _need_ to, because I won't let you go through this alone. You're not _in_ this alone." Holly can feel her fingers convulse while she stares at Gail, anticipating something; expecting some kind of response as she yearns to reach out and console her. She physically has to restrain herself from touching her as she waits.

She waits until Gail finally looks up, meeting her eyes, however vacantly. It's enough to continue.

"You're _not_ just a beat cop, I am _not_ out of your league and we're _not_ just having fun. Before last night I wouldn't have known you needed to hear me say this, but if you do, then I will clarify because you should know, Gail. What we're doing is a lot more than I can even express, and I think you know that." She stops the flow of words, wetting lips quickly as she tries to return from the tangent she has found herself in.

"You can push me away all you like; you can have all the space you need to digest what's going on, cause no matter what I will be here. What we have, Gail, it _will_ survive last night and it _will_ survive this, because I promise you, honey.. What we have, it doesn't _have_ to fuck you up if you don't want it to; it doesn't have to fuck either of us up." Gail can tell she's treading carefully, insulating so finely but never quite speaking of – and Gail is thankful for that.

She can barely digest the words being said to her, let alone those multi-layered three letter words.

"So this is what happens when I don't stop you." She lowers her eyes trying to distract from what's been said, even though she can feel those sweet browns trying to swallow her up under her watchful gaze.

"What?"

"The rambling; you're as bad as Steve." Her eyes dart up anxiously, noting the tilt of Holly's head as she stares at her.

"I'm here, Gail."

"I know." She can't help but gape slightly at Holly's lips, feeling for the first time the desire to be close to her, even though things are terrible. She feels better now they've discussed things – or rather, Holly has – it's nice to feel like she's not feeling attacked.

But there's still words that need to be spoken; that need to be conversed in a dialogue than through a monologue, no matter how heartfelt.

"Can I just.." She lifts her eyes, noticing the way Holly edges forward, yet not moving from her spot.

"What?"

"CanIpleaseholdyou? Just a quick hug." She rushes it out so quickly that Gail frowns slightly, her lip dropping in concentration as she recalls what she said. Just as she does, Holly is already gesturing with her hands and taking a tiny step closer.

"I know things are weird. I-I don't want to crowd you, but it could help? Science has shown that body contact releases endorphins into the blood vessels to cause a sense of well-being and negate sadness and pain. So one hug can help to lower blood pressure and relieve stress levels-"

"_Okay_, just hug me already." She demands with a huff, pulling a face all the while.

"Yeah?"

Gail just shrugs, faintly amused by how flustered Holly has gotten during this rant, but really not being able to feel anything past that. The soft glow lasts for about a second before it extinguishes, and she's left just standing there in front of Holly, feeling just as empty as she arrived this afternoon.

And she thought her menstruations were bad.

Because she has never felt more muddled and forsaken in her entire life. It's the only real thing that encompasses her beyond the darkness, and at this point, she'd gladly opt for a desensitized state than to be confronted by this for a second longer.

She gawkily raises her arms in front of her as Holly approaches, watching as she encircles her waist with her own so effortlessly as she places her arms around Holly's shoulders. She doesn't have to do anything as Holly leans in closer, making sure to increase their proximity as she finally presses her face into Holly's shoulder.

She can feel Holly exhale against her.

But all the air within Gail's body remains there, refusing to discharge the heavy mass that's slowly building tension inside her lungs. She feels half way to passing out by the time she feels Holly's hand glide up and then down her back lightly, as if enticing Gail to calm down; to breathe out. And it works – slowly and difficultly, but it works – breaths labored and measured, exiting her body.

There are no placates, no encouraging tones to echo how all will be okay – just a precise, physical act she surrenders to willingly.

"Hey, uh. Elaine wants us all to go down stairs, something about dinner?" They draw back from each other – well, Gail pulls away from a reluctant Holly, as they glance to the doorway.

"Dinner, what time is it? Oh." Holly mumbles, looking from her watch and back up to Traci sheepishly. Gail frowns, not really wanting to be near food at all. She would actually be okay with never eating again, which is quite the thought as she directs her eyes to the doorway, catching sight of her brother.

"_Really_, dinner?" Steve walks to the opposite door frame and leans against it, shrugging his shoulders easily.

"Well it's not every day she has us under the same roof, Sis."

"She really expects us to eat? I can't even think about doing anything right now. Are you even hungry?"

"Not really, but we should check on her, anyway. She's been down there all day."

"When she let me in, she seemed preoccupied with running errands; a natural process when a loved one.."

"Dies." Gail finishes, turning away from Holly who looks on sadly, feeling the foot-in-mouth syndrome all too well thanks to her ever active mind.

"We all cope in different ways, Gail." Traci offers kindly, moving away from the doorway and into the corridor, with Steve in tow. Holly takes a step toward them but falters, looking to Gail, feeling unsure of what to do.

"Just let me have a minute." She mutters hoarsely, turning away from them as she looks to the window across from her. She hears them move in the hallway, appreciative for the reprieve as she moves toward the glass, noting for the first time the infinite black sheet saturating the sky. It's nightfall. And her father is not home.

He won't be coming home, for he's gone.

* * *

She tries to think of the last time she saw him – properly saw him on her own – in a space where words were spoken and eyes locked.

She immediately, almost painfully inhales as she conjures up the last time she was with her father. Remembering how he was mainly quiet in his subdued state, fixed on the settee with the remote control. It was a rare moment of courage where she had come to confess all about her new found sexuality and terribly hot girlfriend, however slightly inebriated.

Instead her father led her into the house, informing her that her mother was out of town for a conference or another, before collapsing stealthily onto the sofa to resume his viewing for the evening. Hardly a hello in passing and, like she half expected before she entered, she found herself backtracking from her intention for being there in the first place.

Especially since her mother was not present, she felt she could hardly drop a bomb of that magnitude and only impact half the population. No, she wanted the whole nuclear effect.

And so she fell down next to him, sighing with resignation as she set her eyes onto the screen.

"So, how is work?" The usual questions followed; ones that needed no grand explanation for her father understood. He didn't demand knowledge unlike her mother, and she was both relieved and disheartened by that.

Had it been Steve, she knows he would investigate like the Inspector he is known to be.

"You seem happy."

"What?" She grumbles, turning her head to look at her father. He briefly looks at her, reaping whatever information he needs before directing his attention back to the screen.

"Just what I said, Gail: you seem happy." She doesn't know how he knows, or if he does completely, but he must sense something. She's not sure how he could notice with the scowl on her face, but he seems to. And so she decides to humor him.

"I am." She's not sure if it's the lilt in her voice, or that she has confirmed his observation, but he nods; a small smile gracing his lips as he continues to stare straight ahead, as though not fixed on this conversation at all – but she feels it – knows he's present.

No matter how oblivious he feigns to act in front of Elaine, she has found that her father is _always_ listening.

"I'm glad." She nearly misses it, but manages to capture the words between her ears and process them again; taking a moment to digest the enormity of what he's just said. As small as the words may seem, they feel big, profound somehow. She's not sure if he's aware of it, but she certainly is. And it gives her the bravery to speak up.

"I'm bringing someone to next month's dinner. That okay?"

"Of course. As long as it's not Nick." She laughs heartily, shaking her head definitively as she leans back against the sofa, noticing for the first time some black and white documentary on the TV about the WWII.

"Definitely not Nick."

"Good."

And that was their final conversation. Light and heavy, all at the same time. Full of potential and renewal.

Probably one of their finer conversations, that just so happens to be their last.

At least a week ago.

She snickers, feeling cheated; and to think that she _has_ been by a human before – and that _she_ has been the cheater. This, this is a whole other thing entirely. This is _life _doing the deed this time. This she can't comprehend, because with the human condition, we're all kind of fucked up. It's just a given. But life and death, it's a different form of fuckery. It's deeper, harder to manage. Makes everything in the human condition seem weak compared to the true blows dealt by existence.

For it's so hard to even be in a world that suddenly has turned its back on you, and on those you love.

How can _life_ make you feel this way?

"So much for the stars, Diaz."

"Stars?" Gail turns away from the window, startled by the voice as she notices Holly still standing in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around her midsection as she stares at her.

"I thought you went down stairs?" Holly can feel it manifest before it even takes place; this obstruction that shields Gail as she stares her down, her body growing stern and tall. And those eyes, they are something else completely.

They always give Gail away.

And they are the last to demonstrate this shift in atmosphere, slowly ridding of the vulnerability that was accessible only moments before. It's a raw transition that pains Holly, seeing those cobalt eyes grow dark.

They just seem to ebb away until they're unrecognizable.

"I didn't know if you wanted to be alone or.." Her hand moves feebly by her side, trying to grasp something while her mouth fumbles for cohesion.

"Well I did."

"Gail.."

"I _do_. I want to be alone, Holly. Do I have to spell it out to you?" Holly absorbs her words like a shot to the chest – but she recuperates, and like a ballistic vest, she steels herself and tries to breathe through the shock.

"Usually I have a pretty good read on you, Gail. I'm sorry I don't right now. I'm not trying to-"

"Yeah, whatever." She stands frozen to the spot as Gail saunters by her without concern. She tries to not take it personally; this unpleasant, ruthless facet she has never had the pleasure of seeing before, but it makes it that much harder to reconcile with.

She knows this side of Gail exists, but she never thought she'd be on the receiving end of it.

She never thought she'd be shut out, closed down; completely thrown from what they are. She caught a glimpse of it last night, and it still worries her. But this right here is a great deal more hurtful, because unlike before, she can't read her. She can't understand this, and because of that, she doesn't respond.

She just watches her walk away.


	8. The Lonely

Hey, thanks to those that have read, reviewed and followed, etc. Means a lot!

Wanted to get something up and this is the end result. Will try to update on a semi-regular basis.

* * *

Chapter 8

The Lonely

As she takes a seat at the table she notices Holly enter the dining room; head held high and eyes bright to acknowledge everyone with a perfectly contrived smile. It seems to escape everyone's attention but Gail's, maybe because they don't know Holly's authentic beam the way that she does.

This knowledge makes her look down to her plate as she senses Holly claim the vacant chair next to her. She quietly berates the fact that Traci decided to sit next to her brother, even though it was kind of a given.

"Dr. Stewart, a pleasure to see you again." Elaine asserts in her authoritative tone, tucking into the meal that was kindly delivered per request; a standard chicken and vegetable casserole that looked nowhere near to being devoured by any person on the six-piece table.

"Thank you for having me." Holly responds in kind, offering her a smile as she sets about stirring the contents in her bowl.

"I was unaware you were close with Steven, not that I'm saying your presence here is unwelcome." Elaine exclaims, perfecting her act of consuming food tonight as she brings the spoon up to her mouth only to stop, stilling it as she stares at Holly. At this point, she anticipates the pair of eyes to dither away uncomfortably so she could lower the piece back down, but Holly remains eye contact.

"I'm not, I'm here for Gail."

"Gail?" She barks, looking to her daughter with something akin to surprise. Gail all the while maintains her visual downcast, refusing to look up and participate at all. Her hands fidget on her lap under the table though, feeling the force of her mother's stare.

"Leave it, mom." Steve remarks quietly, removing his elbow from the table as he picks up his utensil to prod at the food aimlessly. At this point it appears that Traci is the only one who is actually eating the food, however slow the intake.

"Thank you for having me too, Superintendent Peck."

"Please, call me Elaine. You must be Traci Nash." She knows perfectly well who she is, having done some investigation on Detective Nash some time ago.

"Yes mother, this is _the_ Traci Nash that I invited to our monthly dinner for later this month." Steve mumbles, barely coherent enough as he chews on a bread roll.

"I heard you're a Detective? And that you have a son?"

"Yes, to both questions." Traci says, looking around the table before resting on Elaine who seems to nod and make a sound of agreement.

"And where is your son tonight?"

"He's with his father, Dex. So if it's okay, I can stay with Steve tonight?" She asks looking to Steve who nods slightly, placing more bread in his mouth as Elaine waves her hand disinterestedly.

"Of course, of course. _Oh, _Gail, you never got back to me about this gentleman _you_ invited to our monthly dinners. How is that going? Please don't tell me you're already broken up."

"Something like that." She murmurs under her breath, though Holly clearly hears it for she exhales, turning her face away from Gail as she admires her own dinner plate quietly.

"Well your father said that.." She pauses, noting how fresh everything feels now as she thinks of her husband – her wonderful, caring and hardworking love – and how he is now no longer here to hear her words. She lifts her eyes to the other end of the table, half expecting him to be sitting there with his food, head bowed as he eats silently.

If she were to close her eyes for second, maybe she could pretend that he was.

"Well, he said that you seemed excited. You never returned my calls."

"Been busy."

"You should always make time for family, Gail."

"Oh yeah, and what family is that?" Usually Gail doesn't bite, always preferring to stay quiet and make it through the meal unharmed – but there's a distinct tightness in her chest that won't seem to ease up. And it's making everything that much more difficult to let go.

"Gail." She doesn't even know who says her name; imploring her to concede, but she doesn't. She won't. Not this time.

"No really, what? A brother that's half way choking to death on a dry roll and a mother who won't stop acting like today is not the worst day of our lives. Have you even cried? Do you even feel anything?" The worst part is that Gail is not shouting, she's not angry – she's asking these questions with utter sincerity. And sure, there's some bitter edge, but that's Gail. It's Gail, and yet as Elaine looks at her daughter – as Steve and Traci and Holly look on – it's like she's not her at all.

Or maybe the darkness is swallowing her up so much, that all she has to rely on now are the shadows of her own thoughts.

"Ga-"

"No, we're sitting here like nothing's wrong, like this is one of our monthly dinners- well, right before mom lays into us, that is." She sneers, looking to Steve for back up but receiving none. She shakes her head and pushes her chair back.

"Sit down, Gail."

"No mother, I don't have to do what you say. I never had to." It's a realization that astounds Gail as she sits there, half way to standing as she considers her mother from across the table.

"You're just this person who doesn't know how to be a mother, so why try? Really mom, why? Dad's gone, what's the point?" No one knows what to say, or how to react. It's like Gail has suctioned all logical cohesion from the room and left them in space.

In here, there is no gravity; in here they're all starving for air.

Elaine has always known that her daughter feels the force of the world, and knows that she equally is a force to be reckoned with. It's why she tries so hard and fights and makes it all challenging, because nothing is easy – at least nothing worthwhile ever is. She knew this when she was raising Gail, she knew this everytime she conditioned her; taught her, fought with her, ridiculed her and beat her viciously with her words and ever threatening disposition.

She knew through it all that her daughter would fight back.

She just never knew that this is what all her fighting would amount to.

And she should have known, or at least looked closer at Gail when the kidnapping happened - even just a little bit. It was this event alone that seemed to spiral Gail's life out of control. Everything after that event is proof of that. But she was so sure, so absolutely convinced that she had raised Gail to be stronger than this.

Than Perik.

That she never really took notice to the influence of Barber.

And it's something she's struggling with now. It's raw, and it's painful, because it's an experience that will forever mar Gail. And now, unfortunately, she will carry this death with her too.

She can barely recognize her daughter staring back at her, and she realizes with a sharp beat to the heart that she is to blame. All her efforts, hours and devotion have gone undetected by Gail.

She thought she raised a daughter who would surely identify her intentions in time, and be grateful for making her a Peck, when instead; all she raised was a daughter who was blinded by her own introspection, and who happened to loathe her.

Today is not just a loss to Elaine, but a constant blow to her heart. And there is a genuine loss she feels marking her already exposed heart.

"You know, I thought this would make me feel alone. But I'm coming to understand that I've always been lonely, so what's the difference, eh? It's not like I had any parents to begin with." She's so thrown by the words that she stares gobsmacked at her daughter, unable to commute how these words could possibly be leaving her daughters mouth – and so readily.

There's a conviction, no matter how acrimonious, that makes Elaine shudder as she watches Gail finally abandon the dining room table, and make tracks out of the room. They all just sit there, looking at the empty space where Gail used to be, wondering what to do.

Whether this was really happening.

Elaine looks to Holly, who is only now finally turning her head back to the table, her brows knotted in concentration as she ponders.

"Though I would have preferred your expertise today, I see now why you refused to conduct the autopsy. Thank you." Elaine mutters absently as she fights to keep her hand from shaking, placing the spoon into the bowl as gently as she possibly can without causing back-splash.

"Dr. Moore is an exceptional Medical Examiner, he.. He'll ascertain the results you deserve." Holly says inattentively, her eyes straying back to the doorway as she stares on. Elaine takes this time to look at her son and his girlfriend, noting how Traci's hand is covering his on the table, his other hand fiddling with the bread now on the table.

It barely has a few bites taken from it.

"Today has been.. Well, Gail is right that is has been the worst day of our lives, I am sure." She says, keeping her eyes on Steve who continues to look down.

"I do love you, Steven. I hope you never question my intentions-"

"I know, mom. Gail, she's not taking it well. None of us really are." She hums and looks to Steven, only now seeing something she hadn't before.

"What happened to your hand?"

* * *

"That's some dark stuff, even for you, Sis." He says, entering her bedroom, navigating toward her bed with the help of the moonlight. He doesn't bother disrupting the atmosphere his sister has obviously created for herself.

"Yeah well, death sucks."

"It does. You didn't have to go so heavy on mom."

"I know."

"You know she-"

"Seriously Steve, if we keep going on this merry-go-round about how mom and dad love us, I'm going to puke."

"I puked, you know." She pulls a disgruntled face, staring at him until he explains.

"It was when Holly bandaged my hand up like a pro. I'm not sure what it was, but I ended up hurling in the bin. Surprised she didn't leave me in my squalor." Gail briefly recalls the time she cut her hair, how she just hacked off her ponytail without much regard until Holly came. And in that darkness, she was like a beacon: a voice of reason. For every pain that throbbed and every break she clarified, she was sure that she would end up alone. But Holly, oh.

No, she stayed. And she continues to stay through all her acts of woe.

"She's versatile like that."

"You need to stop being heavy on her too."

"I'll stop when I can start thinking again." Steve frowns, narrowing his eyes at Gail for an answer.

"I don't believe I've thought anything through today. Just feels weird: like I'm a body that's doing all this stuff, but not really having much control over it."

"Yeah, I had this stuff too, and then it all just came out of me." He jokes, watching her carefully as she put the pieces together. She cringes when she does.

"Gross."

"Don't worry, I threw the bin out."

"You better."

"I have."

"Good." Her eyes turn to the doorway, drawn to the light that emits from the hallway as Steve looks on.

"Holly's still here." She rolls her eyes at this, settling back against the headboard.

"Great."

"_Friends_ of the family have left some food baskets down stairs over the course of the day; they should be in the kitchen somewhere, perfectly organized by mom _of course_, in case you find yourself hungry." She doesn't reply, instead opting to look at Steve intensely.

"Why did you stop eating the dry roll?"

"What?"

"The dry roll, why did you stop? Not only would I be silence right now, but you would be providing me entertainment; eating your dry roll, choking to death."

"You're so morbid today."

"Like I said, death sucks." She answers with a shrug, knowing that's the only answer she has right now that can really encapsulate anything at the moment. It's still too fresh, even though she knows it's happening – that this is factual.

"I think I'll take this as my cue to leave. Holly said to say goodnight, and that she'll be sleeping in the guest bedroom, per requests of dear mother."

"Where will Traci be sleeping?"

"With me, of course."

"Yuck." He smiles as his eyes trail over to the wall.

"Moms gonna flip when she sees it."

"_Excellent_."

"Gail, you're not Mr. Burns."

"Whatever you say, Groundskeeper Willie."

"God, that show.. Dad used to love that show."

"Yeah, he did."

"So, you gonna be alright tonight?"

"As long as the bed bugs don't bite, sure."

"I'm serious, Gail."

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll sneak down and eat some food baskets later or something."

"Or Cheese Puffs, right?"

"They don't have any here."

"Lies. You know dad hides some for you from mom."

"I ate the last packet- at least I think I did. It's been a while since I've been here."

"Exactly, maybe dad.." They let it hang there, unable to finish it.

"Well, I'll be next door."

"Don't remind me. And please, no funny business. It may have been years since we last lived under the same roof as each other, but those scars have still not settled."

"Scars? It was one time.. and it's not like we were _actually_ doing anything."

"Steve, you were on top of her with your top off, and she was making beaver sounds while chewing on your ear."

"Still not as graphic as the time I came to check on you for mom and you had your hand down-"

"Okay Steve! Clearly we're both scarred by each other; so really, let's keep these rooms PG rated, deal?"

"Okay, Sis. Night."

"Night." She watches him leave, closing the door softly behind him to leave her in the room. For some reason it makes her heart pound uncontrollably as she slowly becomes engulfed by the darkness yet again.

She never thought she'd be afraid with her eyes open, but here she is – terrified.

Yet she knows rationally it's because of the darkness, and it's like she's secretly willing for herself to be wrong, it's like she's pouring all her energy into believing that he is right – that there will appear some ray of light somewhere – as she turns her head to the window to look out, yearning for the stars to make themselves known.

She knows she's been sort of a recluse, always choosing to be alone. But she's never felt _lonely_ per se. Not really. She has these ties, however miniscule in comparison to larger ones – they have always been a tether in this world that can sometimes get the best of her. Because Chloe is right; they are there for her, no matter how fucked up of a circle they are. They are a family, connected in a way that no other form of friends could dare to be in ordinary, civilian life.

But this darkness, it's always been there, however small too. But it has grown, and it has control over her in ways she's not even sure she can fundamentally digest, because looking back to this afternoon, she realizes that Chloe was looking at her like a victim and it felt sort of uncanny.

It didn't register then, but now that she has the time to run over things in her head – at such a rapid pace that she's not really sure she's making sense of these thoughts – she remembers that she _was_ a victim at some stage in her life; in her career, in her soul.

Perik.

Jerry.

She's not entirely sure why this is coming up at this time of all places, but it is: like a resurrection, unearthing all she previously felt had been lain to rest. She went through the therapy, she made peace with it, she returned to work.

But only two of those facts are true, she realizes. And she knows now that her life is not just lonely now, but rather, she _is_ alone. Because no matter how people try to connect with her, she just won't have it. No matter how they present themselves and promise and do all they can to prove that they will be there for her – she knows that no one can really guarantee that at the end of the day.

And so it's like she's having this epiphany – this long, drawn out, good for nothing, stark recognition that life can change you. It can own you.

What Gail is trying to figure out, is whether she wants it to. Whether she wants to give up this fight that's been her life since she can remember, for she's never felt entirely whole – and clearly the world is taking pieces of her at a time; breaking off edges that have fought so hard to be there in the first place.

Edges like Jerry.

Edges like her father.

These edges just crumble away now, and she's left cracked, with fragments of life falling from her. And there's no way those pieces will ever be able to come back and fuse against her again. They fall like the promises they made.

It all just fades in the end.

But amidst this darkness, she surrounds herself with these embers – these shells that were once filled with life and which were able to breathe for her – she holds onto them for hope. For as much as she wants to just make it all stop, she must remember that there are people in her life; who are living, and that still there for her.

And if they are still fighting for her then really, she has to fight too, doesn't she?


	9. The Nightmares

Hey, so the romance tag has come into question quite a bit, so I wanted to explain why I included it in the first place:

For me, the term 'romance' encompasses a spectrum of things; like feeling and quality, and so although right now the traditional verb of 'romance' has not come into play as of yet, I do feel there _has_ been an undercurrent of romance included so far. It's present in how Traci and Holly (and, vice versa) are there for their partners. It's present in how they interact and speak with them. It's present in how they conduct themselves at a time like this. It's present because _they_ are present, and it's an on-going affair.

But I concede, because I get that it's not a main theme in the traditional sense and it's not getting the time it warrants to be one, I suppose. I've since changed it to hurt/comfort as to reflect the current situation and also to avoid further confusion.

As always, feedback is appreciated.

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Chapter 9

The Nightmares

She's not sure what she is dreaming of exactly, but she knows it's inherently bad.

The only way she could try to describe it in her delirious state, is to compare it to wearing wet socks – that inundated, soaked to the core feeling – and she's stuck. It's like her skull is the material, coating her brain in this overwhelming mass. And she wants to find the exit; to cease this pitch black canvas that feels all encompassing, but she doesn't know how.

It's not like she can see, feel or hear anything that she can discern. Nothing in this haze makes sense; it's just a bubble of dread embracing her.

But she wants out, she wants out so desperately.

"Gail."

There's motion, but no form. It's completely bewildering, but she knows there's movement – she can feel it, but she can't touch it. She can hear noise, but no true sounds that are familiar – no words to help her understand what entrapment she is stuck in.

"Gail!"

"What's going on?"

"Is it a nightmare?"

"I think it's triggering a panic attack."

"What do we do?"

"Gail, can you hear me?"

"Is she even awake?"

"She's awake. Honey, can you hear what I'm saying? I'm going to need you to listen to my voice, okay? I need for you to slow it down; just slow all of this down. Focus on your breathing. Just breathe, Gail."

"Should we sit her up?"

"I-I'm not sure if we should touch her, it depends on what's causing this; I don't want to heighten her anxiety."

"Could it be related to Perik?"

"Perik? What does he have to do with this?"

"When things were bad, she would stay over and help with Leo. One time she had a panic attack but she was calming down by the time I reached her."

"Could be; there's been a lot of trauma today, so really anything is possible. Gail? Sweetie, I know this is frightening, but you need to regulate your breathing pattern, okay? Can you count to 10 for me? Can you do that?"

"Are you sure she's awake?"

Gail then feels herself bending, moving until she's in a fetal position. It's all so debilitating.

"That's it, just breathe. You're safe. We're here. You're not alone, Gail."

"Has she always been like this?"

"Mom, now's not really the time for that conversation, okay?"

"But she.. Why didn't anyone tell me about this?"

"This is Gail we're talking about. Anyway, let's not, okay? Not right now."

"I think Steve's right. Maybe we should give Gail and Holly some-"

"She's my daughter, Nash. _I_ will do what I feel is best for her, thank you."

"I never meant to imply anything of the sort, Elaine. I'm just saying that Gail is clearly vulnerable right now, and with us talking like this; crowding her room, it's not doing her any good. Holly can look after her; she'll make she's alright."

"I don't want to leave.."

"Really, Elaine, this could take a while. I know it's scary, but I promise I'll take care of her. I'll come find you if anything happens."

"Come on, mom. They're right. Let's just go get some sleep-"

"Oh don't pretend you were sleeping, Steven. None of us were."

"Then let's go make tea; I know how to make a mean cup at half 4 in the morning."

"She's right, mom. Actually, her tea is better than yours."

"Oh, I doubt that very much."

"How about we go find out? Once we decide whose is better, we can make some for Gail."

"That sounds fair. Holly?"

"Yes?"

"Please make sure-"

"I will. Really, I've got this."

There's a lot of shuffling and mumbling, and it's all like white noise as she lies there, feeling weightless and yet completely heavy at the same time. She can't quite identify why that is, but she just accepts it.

But then she hears footsteps.

And the force against the concrete prompts her to open her eyes, uncertain and disorientated from the echo.

It's like she's walled in again; a hostage to this darkness that never lessens.

"Hey, you're at home. You're safe. Just breathe through this, okay, baby? Can you tell me what you're feeling, anything at all?"

Her eyes close and she's back. She knows where she is now, because she can see. She can see how her wrists are bound; she can feel the injuries on her face and the way her body feels cramped in the small space.

Oh, she knows where she is.

She's right back in the boot of the taxi.

"Try and think of positive-"

"I-I can't." It's strangled, and nothing like her voice – but it's her words, she's sure.

"You can, sweetie. You can."

She braves the moment and opens her eyes, barely focusing on where the sound is coming from. She feels sick, she feels like this is not happening at all and yet it's wholly happening – and there's no end in sight, because it doesn't matter if her eyes are open or closed, she can still see these images feature before them.

"Don't fight this, okay? Just breathe, just focus on positive impressions. Like the time when I suckered you back to the batting cages, and you finally got a hit. That felt good, right?"

She tries to focus on Holly's voice, the only recurring thread through this state of misconception as her eyes flutter shut again. This time there's flashes, and the worst part is that she's never seen them before – this has yet to happen.

She can already feel the soil in her hand.

She can already see the crater deep in the earth.

She can already taste the blood coating her tongue.

She can already hear the silence – the everlasting pause before the drop.

She can already envision the coffin in the hole.

And it's like a blinding pain rips through her entire body, claiming her as a mere vessel while a parasite sets up home. It's an estrangement, and yet strangely, a reconsolidation – because she's never been so emotionally broken and yet more alive in this body than she feels right now.

"Gail! No, fuck. Gail, please. You _need_ to find your center." She can feel her mouth being yanked open with force as she heaves, her body no longer curved into a ball but straightening rigid like a stick. Unyielding and sore.

"Think of a memory or a place or a situation: _anything_ that you can find peace in! Honey, you can do this." She can feel hands on her face now, soft hands that endeavor to delicately cradle her skin and make her feel alright. She can feel her body easing up slightly, her muscles slowly relaxing as she works to relieve some of the pressure in her chest.

She's not sure if she really sees her, but she can feel and hear her.

"That's it. Just breathe. Concentrate on colors, on texture.. It can be anything, like the softness of a bed, or the hum of the coffee machine in the mornings. Just focus on… Cheese Puffs and donuts and all the terrible foods you insist on ingesting. You can do this, Gail. You are resilient, and brave. You are enthralling, and brilliant. Soft and beautiful. Just breathe, I've got you."

She feels her body on the verge of slumber, the visuals no longer battling for dominance as they dissolve to form something else.

The weight of her lids tell her that her eyes are open, as she watches Holly place her arms around her loosely, drawing their foreheads together to gently touch. And as she sets about closing them, she achieves a lightness that amazes her.

Chris was right all along.


	10. The Cause

Hey, long time no update, eh? I aimed to get this up in the week sometime, but the words wouldn't come to me - for which I can only apologise. I'm still very much invested in this story, so I will see it through. It's just it might take a while, is all.  
With this chapter, I tried to make it as real to live events as possible, but there's only so much research and experience I can provide. Therefore I will direct you to my 'fiction' card if some stuff doesn't add up, aha.

Laters!

* * *

Chapter 10

The Cause 

Her eyes are slow to open, fluttering reluctantly in her lethargic state as she comes to. The reason for her revival belonging chiefly to the ray of sunshine filtering in through the window across from her; a beam of light to declare that it's a new day, a new morning, a new start.

At least that's the sentiment she's choosing to go with, and not because she was too lazy to close her curtains last night.

As she inspects the gentle glow making tracks in the sky, she discerns that it's still only early. She could go back to sleep and neglect the dawn for just a little longer, but once she's awake she knows there's no going back. And so she stretches her body while remaining perfectly immobile on her side on the bed, facing the window. She can feel her muscles contract marginally under the strain of movement; she feels restless, not quite with it, and yet she knows she is – she knows that today is really going to be a new day for her.

She gnaws her lip at this, unable to find the courage to get out of bed.

"So, this is your room, huh?" She never thought she'd feel so glad to hear her voice in this moment as her body shudders softly.

Suddenly moving becomes an option – at least within her capacity right now – as she decides to turn over on the bed, wanting nothing more than to put a face to that wonderful voice of hers. She notices Holly resting against the headboard, gazing tenderly at her with her worn eyes. She looks tired and her hair is in a clear state of disarray.

But she doesn't care, because she can't remember a time when Holly looked more real or as magnetic to her than right now.

"How long have you been up?"

"Couldn't really sleep." It's a quiet admission, but that's all it takes for Gail to slowly recall the events of last night – well, as much as she possibly can anyway from the head-space she was in. She can feel her heart begin to tremble with nerves as she continues to look at Holly, who merely returns her stare with a ghost of a smile.

"So, that happened."

"Yes."

"And.." Her eyes grow heavy under the weight of Holly's regard, and she can't help but feel the despondency which quickly disables her; feeling the enormity of the loss all over again. With the slight tilt of her head, more to get comfortable against the headboard than anything else, Holly provides her with a gentle nod.

"Yes."

It's all she needs to know, all she _wants_ to know as she closes her eyes, forcing her breaths to remain regulated under the strain of turmoil. Holly jerks forward then, unable to remain still for a second longer as she shuffles down the bed to lie next to Gail. She wants to pull her close, she wants to hold her like she did last night but in the wake of day she's not sure whether she's entitled to offer such an act of compassion.

Gail resolves to decide for her though as she blindly scoots forward to rest her head down on Holly's chest, only moving to adjust her position while in the dark.

But it's not dark, at least not entirely. Not anymore.

She can feel Holly trace her fingertips through her hair, scratching lightly at her scalp as she exhales deeply and wraps her arm around her side. She grips onto Holly with all the strength she possesses, unable to do anything else except take shelter in her arms.

She realizes then that she should have done this from the very start. Holly was never made to be on the outside, not when she desired to have her close. She needs her now more than ever - if anything is at all apparent during this time, it's that much.

"Holly, I'm sorry."

"Shh, sleep." She can feel her lips press against her forehead then, and it's like her body is actually listening to Holly's request, because the next moment she is yawning against her wishes. She can feel the heaviness of her body and the dulling of her senses in her somnolent state, but she's not scared this time.

She doesn't need to be when she's protected.

"Stay."

"I will."

* * *

"I could have sworn I took this paint from you years ago."

Gail rolls onto her back and stretches, her body feeling grateful for the snooze as she forces her limbs to work. She eventually opens her eyes as she presses herself up onto her elbows to see her mother, taking stock of her form standing in front of the bed with her back to her.

She can practically hear her mother's scorn from here, observing the way Elaine bends down to pick up the paintbrush she discarded yesterday and place it gingerly into the orange container.

"You did." She knows her mother is appraising the wall and slowly coming up with shrewd ways to hurt her. Will the fires be shot now or later? Will she mock? Will she outright tell her how foolish Gail is? How immature?

Gail pushes herself up more and rests her back against the headboard, drawing her legs close to her frame so she can wrap her arms around her knees.

She wishes Holly hadn't broken her promise.

"Well, I suppose we could leave it as is; makes quite the feature wall."

Her mother turns around then, her eyes swift to narrow onto her figure as her arms fold effortlessly across her chest. She can't quite read the expression on her face, and it's making Gail draw in rapid breaths between her teeth while she looks on curiously.

"Really?"

"No Gail, it's hideous." Her jaw clenches then, her gaze adverting to look anywhere but at her mother for she should have expected this: she should have known her mother would behave this way.

People don't change.

"But.. it can stay, for now." She casts her eyes back then, instantly powerless to look away when she's overcome by this remark. To anyone else this would not matter. This would be some sort of give and take ritual that occurs between a mother and her child. But for Gail, this is everything. This is her mother yielding. And it's of no mistake that it seems to be happening now.

It immediately makes Gail choke up, if only because her mother – although very much the same woman she was yesterday and all her days before that – is looking to bargain. She'll never admit it, but she feels guilt at the way she handled her mother yesterday. She can recall certain moments through this continuous haze that has become her life, and it prompts her to speak:

"Mom, about last night.."

"Let's not discuss it now, dear. We have an appointment to meet with the Medical Examiner this afternoon. So let's see about getting you washed up and looking human again now, shall we?"

* * *

Gail's surprised to see Holly still here as she walks into the dining room, clocking her presence with Traci at the table, each seemingly holding a cup of coffee from the steady aroma that's pervading the room. Her eyes trail to her brother then, spotting him in the kitchen with their mother.

"Hey." The warm greeting does nothing to assuage her as she directs her eyes back to Holly, who is keenly looking up at her from her chair. She doesn't respond initially, instead choosing to advance into the room and plop down onto the nearest seat available at the table that just so happens to be the furthest one from the other occupants.

"I'm not speaking to you." She doesn't need to look at her to know how her brows are already knotting, or that there is fury behind her eyes. But she wants to, she wants see it happen and so she does. She looks up to Holly and watches.

"How come?"

"You weren't there when I woke up, you said you would be." She doesn't allow her to intervene, even though her jaw slackens in protest as she continues.

"You left me there, unprotected. I woke up to a sight that will forever haunt me for the rest of my life." Her eyes dart to the object being placed down in front of her, knowing that her mother knows perfectly well what she is going on about.

She fights the smile just itching to bloom, particularly with the way her brother is smirking at her right now.

"Oh Gail, don't be so nonsensical. A mother can check up on her daughter's well-being, especially in her own home and after a night that we've had."

There's a collective silence that befalls the room after that, with no one really knowing how to proceed. It unsettles Gail, for she wants nothing more than to forget her episode last night. She can hardly recall yesterday at all, which is rather absurd considering her memory is anything but dull, but she knows it must be for a reason. It must be because of what's happened. It's not like she's never experienced this sort of trauma before, it's just she never thought she'd be in a similar position again; holding on to these fragments of her life.

And so she doesn't engage, she simply keeps her eyes downcast and reaches out to grasp the mug, grateful for the distraction as she wraps her fingers around it.

The warmth is reassuring in this cold happening.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Traci prompts softly gazing at Elaine, who expels a soft breath of air while she collects her thoughts.

Another thing Gail is grateful for? Traci Nash.

"Well, I'll have to register the death, but I can't very well do that until I obtain a medical certificate. There are a lot of legalities involved. I tried calling everyone I could think of yesterday to notify them of.. his passing; therefore today I'll contact the banks, investment companies, share holdings, all of that stuff. But even then I believe _that_ requires a death certificate, so that will be the main goal of today." Gail watches her mother lean against the wall, clutching her own cup of coffee, her eyes losing focus while her mind runs over the list of things she's got to do.

Ordinarily this would bother Gail, seeing her mother be so strategic and organized, but she hasn't the heart to be ill of her, not when it's clear that Elaine very much needs this right now.

Steve shuffles over to where Gail is seated, and takes the chair next to her, his eyes on their mother.

"Then what?" Elaine's eyes spring back to life then as she directs her eyes over to her children. She moves away from the wall and straightens her back.

"Then I'll make some calls about the funeral. Your father and I already have funeral plans, so I'll need to go over that with them. I'll also have to find the last Will he made; he's done quite a few over the years. I'll have to call around, try a few Solicitors until I find the right one." She glances down to the watch on her wrist, her tongue clicking in the root of mouth as she places the cup down onto the table.

"We should start making tracks; I'd rather our presence be early than late, in case something happens." Elaine then turns to acknowledge Traci and Holly, who are sitting up in their chairs now, visibly feeling out of sorts with the latest developments.

"Traci, Holly, thank you for your hospitality at a time like this. I'm sure my broods are fortunate to have such considerate partners and friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be getting my things. I'll see you two outside in five; we'll be taking my car." Gail watches her mother leave the room without a seconds thought, already planning their trip and thereafter, no doubt. Her eyes turn back to Traci, who is already standing and collecting the desolate looking mugs.

She can feel her eyes roam over her and Holly, equally.

"Steve, would you help me?"

"Sure, but subtlety is not your specialty, Nash." Gail can't help but smile at this, thankful for what she is trying to do – at least she is until her brother steals the mug from her hand.

"Hey."

"You snooze you lose, Sis." All she can do is scowl at the retreating form of her brother, feeling slightly amused by the way he's juggling the cups in his hands before he leaves.

"So, I took a couple days off.." Her eyes dart to Holly who is gingerly rising to her feet while her eyes scan warily over her form, looking for signs of conflict.

"Why? I mean, you shouldn't have." She wants to stand up, she wants to do something, but she can't. She just watches Holly shrug and do all the hard work. She just watches as she approaches her, worrying her lip while her hand runs through her hair nervously.

"I just.. I wanted to be available to you." She doesn't want to be awkward, but she doesn't want to feel like a burden either. She feels heavy, like her weight is excessive and bringing her down, and she doesn't want that for Holly.

Because as much as she gleams, Gail's afraid that she will be exposed.

She doesn't want her darkness to taint her, to extinguish her light.

Gail can only watch helplessly from her chair while Holly crouches down beside her, stopping only when they're at eye level, clearly determined to utilize their eye contact as she reaches out with her hand, and places it onto the table in front of her.

She knows she's trying to respect Gail's boundaries. She knows that she's sensitive right now, visible. And so she efforts to make her presence known within the tacit limitations set out for her.

"I'm here, Gail. And I'm not going anywhere."

She's so earnest in her response that it propels Gail to reach out and clasp her hand behind Holly's head, immediately taken over by the urge to she draw her in. At the same time Holly's hands shoot to rest on the back of the chair and at the side of the table, unprepared for the move. They grip harshly, wanting nothing more than to rest on the person before her, but she refrains.

Gail pulls her close until their foreheads are pressed agreeably together, and they're breathing the same air.

"Holly?"

"Yeah?" They're just looking at each other, trying to gauge what the other is thinking before Gail dips her head and brushes her lips against hers.

"Thank you."

* * *

They don't have to wait long until someone is directing them down the hallway and escorting them into a room. The person inside stands up from his desk, and ambles over to them; though his status is pretty indicative from the uniform is wearing:

"Ms. Peck, I'm Dr. Adam Moore. I was the Medical Examiner who conducted the autopsy on your husband's body. Let me begin with my sincere condolences: Bill was a prominent figure in this City; his loss will be felt by many." His eyes redirect to Steve and Gail, offering a nod in acknowledgment before smiling sympathetically at them and gesturing towards the vacant seats.

Elaine naturally seizes the chair positioned opposite Dr. Moore, and that just happens to be in the middle of Steve and Gail's.

"Please, call me Elaine. This is my son, Steven and my daughter, Gail." Adam looks to Steve and Gail then, noting their less than enthused expressions – though considering the circumstances, that don't surprise him.

"Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, I must admit there is something I want for you to do for us."

"If it's within my faculties then I will try my best, Ms. Peck?"

"I would like for you to not sugar coat this; be as forthright as you see fit."

"Of course. I uh, I will endeavor." He takes a moment clearly stupefied by the appeal, but he quickly recovers, making sure to seem candid in his demeanor as he draws in a profound breath.

"Now, I'm aware that you have an idea of what caused your husband's death, and I can regrettably confirm in my preliminary findings that you are right: The verdict I have reached is that William 'Bill' Peck died from acute myocardial infarction, a heart attack, caused by coronary artery atheroma. Therefore I have concluded the manner of death as natural, under the circumstances." He pauses, allowing the information to sink in as he assesses the members in the room. It's a sight he's come to expect, and has cultivated over the years.

But this is rather extraordinary occurrence, to say the least.

As he trails his eyes over the bodies, he witnesses little to no acknowledgement in the faces of those who were closest to the deceased. It's only as his gaze lingers over the posterities that he finally detects some sort of feedback. To the untrained eye, anyone would deem them vacuous – but he can very well see the little nuances that confirm that they are feeling this.

It's in the eyes predominantly, with the way they project themselves. And then there are the muscle constraints, which they are consciously refining.

These are progenies sitting down in their chairs pretending to be adults for the sake of the beacon sitting in-between them.

And boy doe she burn.

He shakes his head slightly, trying to discard his curiosity to learn more of this peculiar family as he focuses on continuing:

"Now in order to determine what happened, I was provided with empirical data from the time the event took place; his colleague – who was the passenger in the vehicle at the time – specified how Bill was exhibiting typical signs of distress: breathlessness, sweating, and discomfort to his extremities.

It is believed that Bill must have been experiencing these symptoms long before the onset of the attack. He was announced DOA, and then taken to the mortuary to determine cause and manner of death. The medical examiner requested for the post-mortem was Dr. Holly Stewart, who was later unable to conduct the autopsy, and so I assumed responsibility.

It was clear upon examination there was considerable damage to his heart muscle, and after some tests it didn't take me too long to determine a main contributor for his passing."

"I thought it was a heart attack?" Elaine proclaims with unease, her eyes conveying her desperation to learn the truth. Adam takes a moment to evaluate her confused state before continuing.

"Yes, but these conditions don't occur without cause and augmentation."

"Then just tell us, Doc. What caused it?" Steve pipes up, causing Elaine to look at him before focusing on Adam once again. The news of something adding to the reason of Bill's passing elicits a lot of emotion in the room, forcing even Elaine to lean forward in her chair, waiting with an exasperated breath.

"It is to my understanding that Bill had diabetes."

"Diabetes?"

"Unfortunately these incidents occur. Diabetes significantly raises the risk for heart attack, and if left untreated-"

"_Silly_ man; silly heedless man."

"Mom."

"No. He should have…" Elaine stops then, forcing herself to rein in her anger as she peers at Dr. Moore through hooded eyes. Everyone in the room can feel the shift, and know that this conversation is now over.

"Is the death certificate available for collection?"

"Yes, of course." He looks down to his desk and opens up a few folders before producing the document in question.

"As you are aware, this is a copy. We can't provide you with the original for obvious reasons."

"Yes, this will do. Is that all?"

"Uhh, for now. The final autopsy reports should be ready to review in the next 30 days or so. I will try and get it to you as soon as I can." Elaine stands up then, quickly followed by Steve and Gail, as she steps forward to the table.

"Thank you, Dr. Moore. I appreciate all you have done for us." He simply nods his head and accepts her proffered hand to shake. Once she's done being cordial, he watches as she twists on the spot and then exits the room, gripping the certificate in her hands.

"Thanks Doc." Steve offers his hand to which he curtly shakes and then turns to Gail, who just looks on before following her brother out of the room. He looks at the suddenly empty room, taking aback by its vacancy before collapsing down into his seat.

"Hm."


End file.
